


The Bareknuckle Poet

by pleasebekidding



Series: The Bareknuckle Poet (verse) [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: All Roads Lead to Canon, College AU, M/M, Most of chapter 16 is set on 9-11 but I'll warn in that chapter as well, Non-Graphic Violence, Occasional mild violence, injured!steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-17 14:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 66,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasebekidding/pseuds/pleasebekidding
Summary: After a serious accident left Steve temporarily wheelchair-bound, working towards his recovery, he enrolled at Rutgers for a year. He met Danny Williams in his criminology course, wearing pride pins and chipped black nail polish, so sure of himself that Steve found it breathtaking. What happened next redefined Steve's sense of self, his ambitions, and many of his priorities.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once this was in my head, everything else got put on hold while I worked towards finishing it. I'll be getting back to those works now! 
> 
> A hundred million thank yous to [JWAB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jwab), who helped me think through the trickier plot points, and whose suggestions on the chapters as I wrote them have made this a much tighter and more effective story.
> 
> Since I fell for Hawaii Five-0 and these dorks, I feel like everything I write is Steve McGarrett's love letter to Danny Williams.

Steve sat awkwardly in his wheelchair. He’d been trying not to feel desolate for weeks, thrown for the second time in his life into a completely new world. He hated the smell of chlorine in his hair, on his skin, the way it clung after a session of hydrotherapy. The way he could smell it all the way through the rec center the physical therapy clinic was attached to.

Water was supposed to smell like salt, not chlorine.

He was fully aware that he was staring longingly at the corner of the large hall, at the mats set up for boxing practice (he’d assumed martial arts of some kind until he’d seen a couple of teenage boys come in and fish boxing gloves out of a huge duffel bag), the ring in the corner, even the speedballs and heavy bag set up for practice. The big room echoed the way they do, half-court basketball down the other end. The place wasn’t in great repair, but there was a feeling about it. Like it was a real community place where people made do. Where people got together on a weekend every summer and repainted the boards and the lines on the ground after a local guy re-finished the parquetry floor. They probably held a bake sale to pay for it.

A guy maybe Steve’s own age, about a mile across the shoulders and an inch around the waist with thick blond hair, long on top and short at the sides, swaggered into the room from where Steve assumed the locker rooms were. A half-dozen teenage boys scrambled to attention. At least three of them were taller than he was. He said something Steve couldn’t hear, and they all took off to do laps around the gym, warming up while he sorted gloves.

As if he could feel eyes on him, the guy looked up. His eyes caught on Steve’s gaze, and they stared at each other for longer than he probably should have, longer than he probably would have if he wasn’t enduring the tail end of a slow withdrawal from pain killers and the exhaustion of a half-day of PT. The guy nodded, slowly, giving a small smile without a trace of pity, and Steve raised a hand.

If Steve was the kind to notice, he might have noticed that the guy was as handsome as he was built. Straining the shoulders of his Rutgers Athletics Department t-shirt. With smooth, pale skin and gentle blue eyes. How did people talk to each other when they weren’t thrown together in a dormitory, or training, or…?

Steve turned his head as he heard the familiar voice of Vincent, who was helping him get around until he found his feet. Well, not literally, because that was going to take at least another six months, or so he’d been told. But until he was settled into the new dorm, until he’d figured out how to get an accessible taxi when he needed one, how to get from Rutgers to the rec center on his own.

Steve didn’t like Vince, much. He was too invasive, too familiar, too quick to tell Steve unneeded details from his own life. But since Steve would have been lost without him, the last few days, he endured these endless, inane conversations with all the grace he could muster.

He placed his hands on the push rims of his wheelchair and followed alongside Vince, out of the hall, into the tiled, ugly corridor, and out to the van.

 

 

The dorm room was private, which was good. It was one of half a dozen that had been converted from doubles, on the ground floor of Tanner Hall. The bathroom was twice the size of a regular, with rails so Steve could pull himself into the plastic chair in the shower, a low vanity so he could see himself to shave. A desk sized to fit a wheelchair. Everything within reach. Much easier than what he’d been managing with in Maryland.

Steve hated it on sight. It felt too much like he was adjusting to a new reality, here, when it was taking all of his energy to make sure this reality was not one he’d have to live with for long. That was the job. That was his only job, and it was all he would allow himself to think about. Vince marked out a map for him, talking all the while about his youngest daughter’s dance recital last month, his son’s genius in science classes, his eldest daughter’s track and field records. Steve figured he was making all the right noises, and trying to keep the polite smile on his face, but he’d been impersonal, probably a little cold, and he was sure the poor guy was looking forward to being free of him.

“I’m marking off steps with a red X so you don’t get stuck on those paths,” he said, in his thick Italian-Jersey accent. “Just stick to the green lines, alright. I got your classes marked off. You’ve got your PT schedule, you’ve got your class schedule, and you’ve got my number if you need anything else. You okay, kid?”

It was on the edge of Steve’s tongue to say he wasn’t a kid. But he bit it back.

“Yes, sir, good to go,” he said, nodding at the map as if it meant a thing to him yet.

Vince hesitated.

“You’ll be alright. Listen, the way to the rec center is a little steep. If you decide you need a ride, just let me know the day before and I can arrange it. If I can’t make it, I’ll make sure someone else does. Okay?”

“The only easy day was yesterday,” Steve said, quietly.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ll call. Not a problem.”

He was never, ever going to make that call. It was less than fifteen minutes away, and the worst of the slopes was no more than 20 degrees, and he was going to be fine. He smiled reassuringly as Vince left, pulling the door closed behind him.

He had to do it alone. It was the only way he could get through this.

He sat by the window, looking out over the green, and wondered if he might see the blond guy again. As quickly as the thought struck him, Steve decided it was better if he didn’t.

 

 

Steve wheeled himself around campus during orientation week, memorizing the maps and the routes between his classes, scoping out the elevators in the buildings he was going to need. No surprises. He didn’t want surprises. He took note of his travel time between buildings and annotated his schedule like he was going to be tested on it. He wheeled himself with some difficulty (turned out twenty degrees was fuck-all on foot, but a little tougher on wheels) to the rec center a couple of times a day, making sure he had the times right, even before he was due for a session. He even scoped out the laundry in the building to make sure he knew the quietest times, when he could park himself in the corner and get a head start on his reading before classes started while he washed his clothes. He debated calling his father for some extra money. His wardrobe was so empty without all his uniforms, and more clothing meant less time spent doing laundry. He debated finding himself a job. Even something as simple as tutoring, just to put a little extra cash in his pocket.

He got accustomed to silence, to being invisible. He found a couple of bars he could get himself into, but everything was different. The sorts of girls who would drape themselves on his lap, for Steve’s entire life, they gave him soft, pitying looks and then broke eye contact, as if they were afraid he might strike up a conversation they would struggle to get out of. He missed company, missed the noise of hundreds of people crammed into close quarters, chatting, bickering, and generally being in each other’s faces. He ate alone, he watched television alone, and he marked off the days with neat black crosses, one by one.

By the time classes started, Steve was losing his mind. Not a word of exaggeration, he was losing his goddamn mind, in need of company and something more than reading ahead and making immaculate notes to keep his head occupied.

Steve’s first class, on what passed for a sunny morning in New Jersey, was criminology. He’d managed to get a credit for first year, so he had been allowed to enroll in a Criminal Procedure course. It sounded relevant, and would probably help get him promoted sooner than he otherwise would have once he was back with the Navy. He rolled up to a coffee cart where someone insisted he order first and wouldn’t listen to his objections — fuck, he wasn’t going to be in this chair forever, he didn’t need special treatment — and bought a strong black coffee to wake himself up, since his standard early morning swim wasn’t an option for the moment. All the same, he was looking forward to hydrotherapy later in the afternoon. The only time his legs felt normal was when he was kicking through that blue pool, even if it did smell wrong and taste wrong. The best option he had for avoiding muscle atrophy while his legs healed, and clearing his head, for that matter.

He wheeled himself into the lecture theater, and down the ramp to the left, awkwardly pushing himself into the wheelchair bay in the front row with his ears burning. He plucked his backpack off the back of the chair and pulled out the composition book he’d been making notes in already, and marked off a section for lecture notes. He wished he could afford his own computer. Maybe once he had some money he could look at buying something second-hand. A laptop would have been good, but they were so big and bulky, and he didn’t think they had much battery life. But not having to use the computers in the library would make life easier. He settled in, pen poised over the page, waiting as patiently as he could under the circumstances.

The lecturer reminded Steve of his father. Not in appearance (though sometimes, Steve didn’t even think he remembered that right), since the guy was significantly taller, significantly broader, and black, but in his bearing. According to the prospectus, Professor Finch had been an NYPD police captain when he got his PhD in criminal justice and had written a dozen books, mostly on organized crime and domestic terrorism — not the flashy tabloid crap, but handbooks for people who actually needed to know how to prosecute criminals. He had a fierceness about him. He looked out over the assembled students and nodded curtly, apparently satisfied; by what, though? Probably just the numbers, for now.

“This is a difficult class,” he said, slipping his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I’d encourage you to keep an eye out for the deadlines for dropping and adding courses, because in my experience, half of you will switch to something a little less taxing. I’d suggest you do it sooner, rather than later, for the sake of whatever class you add. For those of you who are planning to stick around for long enough so I get to learn your names — welcome. I talk fast, and everything I say matters. If you ask me even once if something will be on the final, I will ask you to leave and never come back. Now, pace yourselves. I don’t want you getting hand cramps. I suggest you come up with some sort of shorthand. And it will be to your very great advantage if you’ve already read through the chapters we’ll be covering long before you arrive in my class. You have the syllabus. Ready?”

By the time the lecture was over, Steve had already decided that this was going to be his favorite class. He was stopped by Professor Finch before he could reach the ramp; apparently, Joe White knew everyone on the entire planet who had ever cuffed a bad guy, and Finch just want to make it clear that Steve wasn’t going to be able to skate by.

“I hope not, sir,” Steve said solemnly. “That’s not really my style, but thank you for your candidness. I look forward to the next class.”

He was wheeling himself out, debating whether to try to eat something now, or wait until after his Arabic class (another one he’d tested into; they had him in a third-year unit) when his mind momentarily wandered, and he bumped into someone. The bumping horrified him, briefly. That horror was quickly superseded by the fact that the person he had bumped into was now covered in coffee.

“Oh, man, I am so sorry,” he said, reaching out as if his intentions could suck all the coffee right out of that very neatly fitted white t-shirt, and the front of those jeans.

Oh, no.

Oh, _no_.

Steve wasn’t prone to daydreaming, not really, but there wasn’t much else to do when he needed a break from reading and television and wishing he was learning not to drown. The neat waist and broad shoulders were burned directly into his brain, and that knowledge, combined with the absolute conviction that where 1999 was concerned whatever _could_ go wrong _would_ go wrong, he knew. Just knew. He had just dumped boxing guy’s coffee all over him.

He dared a look up, and cringed at the look of resignation on the guy’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “Look, you can send me a dry cleaning bill, if…”

“Who dry cleans _jeans_?” The guy tipped his head in a way that was much too appealing. He didn’t look too bothered. Maybe 1999 was treating him just as poorly.

“Okay, good point. But at least let me pay for another coffee.” He fished in his pocket for his wallet. Not a lot of money in there, but more than enough for a cup of coffee or two. He tried to push a five dollar note into the guy’s hand, but those hands went up.

“There wasn’t much left in it anyway. It was cold.”

“But…” Steve waved aimlessly at — to his horror — the guy’s crotch, where the majority had spilled (and it looked like plenty of coffee).

“This isn’t the army. No one’s marking us on now neat our clothes are. I don’t think today or for that matter _any_ day is likely to be ruined by the fact that someone could take one look at me and know that I had spilled a cup of coffee. It’s not the end of the world. I promise you. If you wanna buy me a coffee, come and buy me a coffee like a civilized adult. You look like you’re about to stroke out, babe. Take a deep breath or whatever.”

“Navy,” Steve corrected automatically. “How did —”

“I saw you at the rec center.” Steve’s eyes must still have been wide. “Your t-shirt was a bit of a giveaway.”

“It didn’t say _army_.”

“Well, I wasn’t paying _that_ much attention. Come on, are you buying me a coffee or just teasing?”

Wow, he was annoying.

He held his hand out to shake. “Danny Williams,” he said.

“Steve McGarrett.”

“I saw you in my criminology class. You know we have to get a study group together. I’m guessing you don’t know anyone, so stop gaping, buy me a cup of coffee, and if you can prove you can string one entire sentence together, you can join my group. What do you say, McGarrett?”

Danny had called him _babe_. Steve wasn’t entirely sure anyone had called him babe in his entire life, with the exception of a few of the girls who liked to throw themselves at Navy boys in the bars around Maryland and San Diego.

Fuck it.

“Lead the way,” Steve said.

Danny turned to the girl he’d ben talking to, who was looking amused, and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll take Wednesday on the phone,” he said, and she nodded, gave Steve a sly smile, and left.

“Is that your girlfriend?”

“You’d better hope she’s out of earshot,” Danny muttered. “That’s Louisa, and she’d be very upset to know she was passing for straight. She makes such an effort not to. Don’t think you’re buying me coffee from that cart. I have a stomach lining to worry about. Come on,” he said, leading Steve in the direction of the campus hub. Without making a big deal he led Steve down a ramp (led, unfortunately; Steve had nowhere to look but at his ass, which was the best thing about the campus so far; he thought he detected a limp, but could have been wrong) and to outdoor seating outside a busy-looking café. He moved a chair away to give Steve room to settle himself, and plucked the five dollar note Steve was still clutching from his stiff fingers.

“What’s your poison?”

“Just plain,” Steve said, and watched as Danny disappeared into the café.

A few minutes later, Steve had managed to compose himself. He was watching Danny tear apart about three hundred sugar packets and pour them into his cup.

“You know sugar is basically poison,” he said, frowning.

“I’ll alert the media,” Danny deadpanned. “If that was your audition tape to be in my study group, I’m very sorry to tell you that so far, you’re not doing very well.” But he was smiling, and his eyes were sparkling in a way that would have been very appealing if it was the sort of thing that appealed to Steve, which it was not.

“What makes you think I wanna be in your study group? You’re kind of annoying.”

“Ease up on the endearments, you’re making me blush. So what happened?” Danny nodded at the chair.

“It’s not permanent,” Steve replied, hastily. “I can’t believe you can actually stir that. It must feel like taffy.”

“People tell me I need to be a little sweeter. I’m doing my level best. And I didn’t ask if it was permanent. It’s not my business, but I’m a curious guy.” He laced his fingers together on the dusky green table. “Up to you.”

Steve swallowed, and shrugged. In truth he hadn’t told a single person. The people who had needed to know had been told, the people who’d been there had seen, and he assumed that at some point, Joe had called his father. No one else had asked.

“It was an accident. Training. My lower legs and knees got crushed. They did a reconstruction, a bunch of surgeries, but I won’t be walking again for a few months. I didn’t want to sit on my ass for a year so I transferred here to pick up some extra credits. I’ll be back in SEAL training next July, if things go alright.”

Danny nodded. He didn’t make the sympathetic face Steve was anticipating, didn’t say he was sorry, just processed the information and moved on.

“Seal training. That’s where they teach you to bounce a red ball on your nose.”

“SEAL training. Sea, air and land. It’s —”

“I promise you, I’ve seen a movie or two.” Danny had a permanently sleepy look about the eyes, which did nothing to belie the mischief in them. He pulled a notebook out of his old, black satchel, and copied out some days and times. Steve noticed chipped black nail polish, which he found oddly appealing.

“That’s the study group schedule. We meet at the Dana Library. 4th floor study rooms. There’s an elevator. You know where it is?”

“You mean the enormous library? The one with all the books? I noticed it.”

“Woah, babe, can the sarcasm, you’re not very good at it.” He was still scribbling. “That’s the number for my dorm, if you need anything.”

Steve stiffened in his chair and wrapped a hand tight around his cup. “That’s very nice of you, but I get by fine.”

“I’m not that nice,” Danny said. “You need a drink, you wanna shoot the shit, you need to know where to get a good slice of pie — call me, superSEAL.”

Steve accepted the note paper, with Danny’s untidy scrawl, and folded it, slipping it into the back compartment of his wallet, as Danny stood up and threw his satchel across his body again.

“Danny,” Steve called, and Danny turned around, expectantly. “Why?”

“Because pie is a staple for broke students and I’ve already been here three years and eliminated all the bad ones.”

“No. Why would you wanna shoot the shit with me? You don’t even like me.”

Danny let his lips pull up into that all-too-knowing smile, and his eyes slipped from Steve’s eyes, to his mouth, and then his chest. Probably would have gone lower, if Steve wasn’t still wedged under the table.

“Because you’re cute, McGarrett. See you Friday, if not before.” And he turned, and if Steve had said he didn’t watch Danny’s ass shift in his jeans as he disappeared around the corner, he would have been lying.

He didn’t move for a long time. Nothing to do with the not-quite-semi he was ignoring; Steve was just… he might have said fascinated, if that was the kind of word he used. Which it wasn’t. Danny inhabited his body — inhabited himself — so confidently, so _utterly_ , that Steve felt sucker-punched. It had to feel good, not worrying about whether you were fitting in, doing it right. Not caring what anyone thought. Maybe it was just the way he came across, but Steve was somehow quite sure that it wasn’t an act. Danny just knew who he was, knew he was good enough, and anyone who didn’t like it was no doubt welcome to be elsewhere.

Steve envied him so much in that moment that it was difficult to breathe. Since the moment he’d refused to watch Coronado disappear in the rear view mirror, and felt the Navy slip away from him for the first time in so many years, he’d wondered who he might be without it.

He was never going to find out, not really. This was just a stop gap.

He wheeled around aimlessly for a while, and then headed to his Arabic class.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve spent more time than he probably should have thinking about Danny, over the next couple of days. Not so much that he didn’t manage to get ahead on the criminology reading, finish his first Arabic assignment a breezy two weeks early, get a head start on Mandarin and Spanish and worm his way into an organic chemistry unit, but Danny was always there in the back of his mind, his phone number written neatly into the contacts page of Steve’s appointment book and the study group times scribed faithfully onto his schedule. He wheeled his way to the rec center and his PT every afternoon without fail, and needled at Tulip and Damien, his therapists, about letting him try the parallel bars, get on his feet for longer than the four seconds it took him to transfer himself to the chair in his shower.

“Sure,” Tulip said. “No problem. Can you see a problem, Damien?”

“None,” Damien said. “You can do that, and undo all the progress you’ve made so far, and probably end up back on the dose of opiates you were on before — I bet you’d love to start withdrawing again, that would help with your classes.”

“Yeah, and when you fall over, and potentially make a mess of all those pins and plates that are slowly become integrated into what’s left of your bones, you can take antibiotics for another, oh, what do you think, Damien? A month? At least? He’d be pretty resistant by now. How was that on your stomach last time, Steve?” Tulip was evil. Steve was starting to think all of them were. But they hoisted him out of the chair and onto the edge of the pool and he pushed off, treasuring the weightlessness of his legs for as long as that would last.

“Can the sarcasm, you’re not good at it,” he called after them as he slipped into an easy breaststroke.

 

 

Over the next few weeks, Steve either didn’t see enough of Danny, or he saw too much of him. Steve hadn’t actually decided which it was.

Danny had taken to sitting next to him in the front row during lectures, whether they spoke or not, and as often as not talked him into lunch or a cup of coffee afterwards. Steve didn’t even know how he did that. He just led, talking with his hands, run-on sentences that Steve was pretty sure he wasn’t even obliged to listen to, and Steve followed along, until they were sitting with a pizza ( _nothin’ but dough, sauce and mozz_ ’ — no ham, no pineapple, this was the worst state in the Union) or a coffee and tormenting each other until Danny was grinning and Steve was annoyed and charmed in equal measure. By the talking, the gestures, the way Danny touched him all the time, brushing a hand against his arm, squeezing his shoulder as he followed alongside, poking his bicep to make a point. The sort of thing that bothered Steve, when anyone else did it, but he _craved_ it, when he was with Danny. And then the study group, twice a week. And sometimes they saw each other at the rec center, but Danny was always busy, and Steve was always on his way out.

One day, after a longer than usual session where Damien was talking Steve through some complicated apparatus that was designed to let him build core stability, upper muscle, and work his thigh muscles, without doing too much with his lower legs, he caught Danny on his way out the door.

“Waiting around to walk me home, babe? That’s sweet of you. You want to get dinner?”

“I was just,” Steve said, gesticulating behind himself. Yes, he wanted to get dinner. He was tired and sore and wanted company.

No, it was so much worse than that. He wanted _Danny’s_ company. So badly he couldn’t breathe. He wanted the scrutiny, the attention. No one had ever made him feel as seen as Danny did, and as much as he dreaded what it meant, and how it made him feel, he wanted more.

“Are you just gonna stare, or are we gonna get something to eat?”

Steve felt himself slump. “I’m out of money until Monday,” he admitted. “I think I need to find a job.”

“Ah, well, it just so happens that I know an Italian restaurant where Williamses eat free. As do Morettis. And guests, if I don’t abuse privileges. So let me save you from meatloaf night at the mess hall and introduce you to the wonders of spaghetti puttanesca.” Apparently, that was jazz-fingers worthy. _Apparently_. Because Danny was making jazz fingers.

The weather was still warm, and the sun was out; it was probably a bit early for dinner, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to care. The truth was that his recently-acquired tendency to eat later was prompted by nothing but the need to space things out and have something to do that didn’t involve flicking through television channels and doing homework. Maybe the place would be busy, and dinner would be drawn out.

Steve paused outside the restaurant. There was a step. Only one, but it was steep. Danny came up behind him and angled the chair back to ease it over the bump.

“Oh, I know, you don’t need help. But I need a dinner date so Uncle Vito doesn’t talk my ear off, and I think it might be time for you, my friend, to get the hang of accepting the smallest bit of help when someone offers it to you. I heard a rumor that no man is an island, even if he’s a trained seal with red ball tricks and abs of steel. Look, done, and you can’t even complain because I’m not letting you get a word in edgewise. Hey, Vito! Ever heard of the Americans With Disabilities Act? When are you gonna get that step turned into a ramp?”

“When are you gonna come and help me pour the concrete?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Danny said, offhand, but Steve somehow knew that if he ever managed to get back here again, there would be a concrete ramp where that step used to be and Danny wouldn’t even mention it. It made him feel uncomfortable. Also, he liked it. A lot. He didn’t bother arguing as Danny steered him through the crowded restaurant, greeting half of the customers by name, and finally dropping into a tiny booth near the pizza oven.

“Does he do a Hawaiian?” Steve asked.

“A Hawaiian what?”

“Pizza. You know, pineapple, ham…”

“No, and he never will. Because that is without question the worst thing I’ve ever heard. Where did you ever encounter an abomination like that?”

Steve frowned at him. Seemed like a dumb question. “ _Hawaii_. You got a problem with ham? Or pineapple?”

“No, babe. Ham is perfectly acceptable on a sandwich. Pineapple is acceptable in any rum-based cocktail, or in a fruit salad. Neither deserve the indignity of ruining the tradition of good pizza. When did you go to Hawaii?”

“I grew up there,” Steve said, and realized immediately it was only the second time he’d ever really revealed something personal about himself.

Danny nodded. “That is interesting. That is very interesting, because I have to tell you, babe, I had a whole theory where they cooked you up in a lab. Hawaii. Do you surf?”

“Everyone in Hawaii surfs.”

“Doubtful, but I’m taking that as a yes. My cousin Maria,” Danny said, standing to offer Maria a kiss on each cheek. “My friend Steve. It’s been a tough week, Maria, we’re gonna need a bottle of your very finest — or cheapest — red wine and some garlic bread, please. And if you want a decent Christmas present his year, I need you to do me a favor and put aside one of whatever dessert is good tonight. Thank you. I love you.”

Steve shook the woman’s hand. She was probably a year or two older than he and Danny, and beautiful, with dark features and a cascade of thick blond hair falling over her shoulders.

“I’ll bring a carafe of the cheap stuff. You’re not a good enough tipper to be this demanding,” she answered, fondly.

The next few minutes were a blur, because apparently everyone who worked in the restaurant was family, or close enough to it, that everyone had to meet Steve. He was polite, shook everyone’s hand, memorized their names like a good soldier, because that was what he did. He ignored the feeling of being overwhelmed. It felt like talking to people after a football game. Uncle Vito must have shaken his hand for ten minutes, and called him ‘this guy’ repeatedly like they’d met once at sea or something. But eventually, they drifted off, and then miraculously, there was garlic bread (… not exactly healthy-looking) and Danny was pouring wine.

“I don’t drink much,” Steve said. “And I don’t know anything about wine.”

“Ah, I do,” Danny said. He sniffed his glass. “And this fine red, vintage last month, smells… _free_. So drink up, babe.”

Steve took a sip. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but he wasn’t sure he didn’t, either, and really, this was about the best time he could remember having in a few years. He watched Danny as surreptitiously as he could, but Danny caught him, and gave him a smile that was much too knowing.

“So,” Steve said. “Big family guy?”

Danny nodded. “Big family guy. Big _family_. As far as I can tell, there’s nothing more important.”

Steve felt his heart sink. That sounded true enough. Not that he could relate. “I wouldn’t know,” he said.

“Tell me about it.”

Steve tried to laugh.

“No, I mean. Tell me about it, Steve.”

Steve wished immediately that he hadn’t opened his mouth. But he’d learned to be matter-of-fact about things, and he liked Danny knowing things about him, for some reason. He shrugged. “My mom died in a car accident when I was fifteen. A few months later, my dad sent me and my sister to the mainland. Mary went to live with our Aunt Deb in Los Angeles, and I went to a feeder boarding school for the naval academy. I haven’t seen any of them since.”

Danny froze. “Oh,” he said, which was at once the shortest and most profound thing Steve thought he’d ever heard Danny say. “Okay. That’s rough. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s all I’ve known. The Navy’s my family. I adjusted.”

Which was mostly true. Maybe eighty percent true. _Seventy-five_.

Steve took a piece of the bread, and wished he could have bitten back the near-sexual moan when the garlicky, herby butter hit his tongue.

“This is incredible,” he said. “I’ve never had garlic bread this good in my life. I didn’t know it could actually taste like garlic.”

“And you’re talking to me about ham and fruit on pizza. Shame on you, babe. Wait until you try the pasta.”

“You ordered pasta?”

“Hey, it’s my uncle’s place, he’ll bring us what he brings us and it’ll be the best thing you’ve had in your mouth. So far,” he finished with a grin that reminded Steve all too much of he sun coming out from behind a cloud. Steve made a fake annoyed face that fooled exactly no one, and reached for another piece of bread.

It did feel like being in the very large dining room of an extended family. Steve wasn’t really expected to contribute a whole lot, mostly listening and soaking up the feeling. He liked it more than he’d have thought he would, if Danny had explained where they were going, and described this kind of chaos. As comfortable as Steve was living with a couple of hundred other guys, this was…

Well, it was different. It was good. Steve finished his wine, and Danny poured another.

“You’re a busy guy,” Steve said.

“Isn’t everyone?”

“No, I mean. School, family… what’s the deal with you and the kids in the rec center?”

Danny shrugged. “I had a temper, growing up. Who am I even kidding, I _have_ a temper. I got into a lot of fights in high school. Grew up in a bit of a rough area, out as bisexual at sixteen and shorter than most of the girls in my class — I taught people pretty quick not to fuck with me. Dad dragged me to the rec center to learn to box from an old friend of his, with the reluctant agreement that I’d do my best to get out of scrapping outside the ring too often. I liked it, I got very very good at it, and now I train there and pay it forward with those kids. Most of them don’t have dads at home, they’ve got anger issues, they don’t have anyone to talk to.”

The sort of kids who might do well in the Navy, Steve wondered privately, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it, as Danny seemed to be doing alright with them. Besides, his mouth had dried up. The idea that someone could stand up and tell the world they were bisexual — as if that was an easy thing to do, the obvious thing to do, a better option than beating that part of yourself into submission — Steve was floored by the whole concept, and very aware he was gaping. Danny’s expression said he hadn’t slipped that tidbit in by accident.

“Get back on your feet and you can teach them whatever ninja karate moves you’ve got up your sleeve, could be fun. You might like it, I don’t know. You box?”

“Some. Mostly MMA. It’s more adaptive.”

“Boxing’s a gentleman’s sport.” Danny said, with an expression on his face that suggested he was trying to bait Steve into an argument and a hand on his forearm. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”

“Where I come from, hand to hand combat is a matter of survival, not _sport_.”

“You need to unclench, babe. Not a criticism. I bet you look dynamite kicking terrorists in the face.”

“I don’t kick terrorists in the face. I’ve only been in the Navy a few years, barely started SEAL training. I don’t have room to carry around puffy red gloves,” he said, with a frown.

“Can’t help thinking if we all sorted our differences out in the ring, we’d have less bickering over oil.”

“Good point,” Steve said. “No, you’re right. We’ll teach the Navy boys to negotiate sportsmanlike behavior and an agreement not to hit below the belt, sort out world peace.”

“It would probably work better than competitive table tennis, but what do I know?”

Steve felt his annoyed expression falter; he doubted he was fooling anyone anyway. He was starting to enjoy the rhythm.

“I’ll give it a try once I’m a beat cop, I’ll keep you updated.”

“A cop? You? Angry Jersey boy cop?” Steve joked, but he could see it; Danny seemed like the kind of guy who could cheerfully walk a beat, learn the names of everyone in the neighborhood, their kids and their dogs as well.

“Yeah, me, a cop.”

“What happened to your knee?”

Danny’s eyebrows shot up. “Observant. I got into Rutgers on a scholarship. Baseball. Blew out my knee in my freshman season but I had the grades to keep the scholarship, after a settlement.”

“Sorry to hear that. Did you want to go pro?”

“They’re all out of slots for guys my height in the major leagues. Beside, all I’ve ever wanted was to be a cop. My pa’s a first responder. Firefighter. I grew up around people who ran into burning buildings when everyone else was running out of them, and I knew that was what I wanted to do.”

“Maybe we’re not that different,” Steve said. “My dad’s a cop. That was my plan, until… anyway, he told me he didn’t want me to be.” He didn’t add that he was always a little afraid that if he ever chose to follow that first instinct, he’d lose his father forever.

“Maybe we’re not,” Danny agreed, his face softening, and he patted the back of Steve’s hand in a way that could have been condescending, but wasn’t.

 

 

By the time they left, Steve was stuffed to the gills with three different kinds of pasta, and an awkwardly shared dessert made from sponge and coffee and cream, all soaked through with some kind of alcohol he didn’t recognize; his head was fuzzy with wine, Danny was gesturing wildly as they wandered slowly back in the direction of the campus, and Steve felt…

Exhilarated. It was strange; he felt more himself than he’d felt in a long time, but he couldn’t remember having been quite like this ever. Arguing, _enjoying_ arguing, forgetting almost completely the misery of being stuck in the stupid chair because Danny steamrolled over every moment he might have found it a stumbling block. Crossing the road to avoid a broken section of the sidewalk. Providing a momentary stabilizing hand as they mounted a curb. He didn’t censor a single word that came out of his mouth.

Steve hadn’t felt so accepted in his entire life. Nothing to do with Steve the achiever, Steve the quarterback who systematically smashed every one of Chin Ho Kelly’s records in his sophomore year, Steve the good Navy boy, the top of his class, Most Likely To. Steve the good son, parent to his sister when his mother had died and obedient and helpful before that. Danny treated him like Steve, pure and simple, and for some reason, it made Steve feel more like himself than he ever had before. Ever.

He didn’t realize they’d looped around to Steve’s dormitory first until they were in front of it. Steve paused at the foot of the ramp and swiveled around to Danny.

It felt like a moment for a kiss, if that was the sort of thing that Steve did, with men. Which he didn’t. Because he was straight. He rested his hands on the push rims, he looked up into Danny’s beautiful face and for a second, he sort of wished he wasn’t straight. That he could just decide, put his hand up and be counted, without that decision ruining his entire life.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “I haven’t had that much to drink in as long as I can remember.”

Danny nodded. “I might actually get some sleep tonight.” But he didn’t move, didn’t take a step, just stood, like he was waiting for something. It occurred to Steve that if he reached out, that would be all that it took for Danny to lean down and kiss him. It would be that easy.

And then he remembered Robert… _Robert_. Couldn’t even remember his last name, just the fact that he’d been dumb enough to admit to someone he counted as a friend that he had a boyfriend waiting for him at home. He’d been gone less than twenty-four hours later. All that work gone. A dishonorable discharge, they said, and whether those were the words or not, there was certainly no honor in his dismissal. So it didn’t matter what Danny looked like, in the soft light, with his pale cheeks a little rosy from the wine. It didn’t matter how strong and powerful those arms looked, and how Steve had wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up tight in them, or to feel that stubble brush against his neck. It just wasn’t possible.

“Well, sleep tight,” he said, twisting his wheels in the other direction. “And thanks again for dinner. I’ll see you in study group.”

“Goodnight, Steven,” Danny said, and the disappointment in his voice was unmistakable. Steve didn’t look back, though the tug against his hindbrain said Danny was still standing there, watching, as the doors opened and he wheeled himself inside.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t that things were awkward after that. Not exactly awkward. They just felt different. Steve understood why. He probably couldn’t have been more clear about his intentions… or his lack of intentions, more accurately. Maybe if he’d been taking two women back to his room, and wearing a ‘straight pride’ t-shirt. But it was different. It was better, really, in a lot of ways. They got along well. They studied well, they challenged each other, and Danny’s intelligence, his clarity, they were like a drug. But Danny stopped flirting, the way he did, stopped touching Steve’s arm, or his shoulder, or tapping the back of his hand to make a point. Strange how something that had been so annoying and invasive at first was so missed, now that it was gone. Almost like his body anticipated the contact, and when it didn’t happen, Steve felt a cold spot on his skin.

 _That_ was better, too, though. Because Steve wasn’t really a toucher. Though he’d been toying with the idea of trying it. Especially when Danny was rambling at a mile a minute and Steve couldn’t get a word in edgewise, he imagined reaching forward to clamp a hand over his mouth or shake his shoulder.

Since that would have been mixed messages of the worst sort, it was definitely better that he hadn’t started.

None of that explained why he was feeling out of sorts. They weren’t spending all that much less time together, and Steve had, nominally at least, made a couple of other friends, so he wasn’t completely dependent on Danny not to look like an idiot. But Steve was lonely. Transference, he figured. Missing his friends in the Navy, the ones who really understood him.

The ones who really knew him.

The ones who, if he called right now and said he was having a crisis of sexuality (if he was, which, he wasn’t), would probably make a phone call and make sure Steve’s career was over before it had even really started.

One overcast day, waiting until it was time to head to the rec center for PT, Steve found himself rolling aimlessly around the campus, indulging himself completely in wallowing in envy for the people who were sprawled under trees studying or napping or kissing; if he pushed out of his chair on ground that soft, on grass that deep, he’d never get back up on his own. He paused on the footpath to watch a couple of guys playing guitar.

 _Never should have quit_ , he thought, wistfully.

On the other side of the grass, outside the student hub, was a familiar figure. Danny was stapling something to a poster board. He took a few steps and added another to the other side, and then disappeared from view as he headed towards the library.

Steve wheeled himself slowly around the quadrangle and stopped in front of the posters.

Weirdly, he really couldn’t figure out what Danny would have been sticking here. It seemed unlikely that he was narc enough to be reminding people that pets were strictly prohibited from dorms. And he definitely wasn’t running a poetry slam, whatever that meant. But then it seemed beyond implausible that he was looking for a drummer for his band, and since Steve had never seen him on a bicycle it was unlikely it was missing, and though he could have been advertising his side business as a personal trainer, that particular flyer had been there since before it had last rained.

His gaze flicked back to the poetry slam.

 _Nah_.

Except.

Steve’s eyes glazed, and he tried to picture it. Not the _slam_ part because that wasn’t something he’d ever heard of. Just the poetry. Danny with his soft blue eyes and his big family and bigger heart. Rosy red boxing gloves and sad teenage boys, any one of whom who would have swapped their absent fathers for a Danny-shaped big brother in an instant. Danny calling him babe and being utterly unperturbed about wearing a cup of coffee for the entire day, gesticulating like an old Jewish nana and planning to be a beat cop in Jersey, laughing when Steve insulted him and dropping insights like petals all over the place, study group and coffee and Steve’s stupid, ruined heart.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and pictured that particular hurricane writing _poetry_.

Steve knew next to nothing about poetry. The first image he conjured up was of Danny holding a quill pen, with a kerosene lamp, writing in cursive. Steve balked at that.

The second image was Danny sitting up against the head of his bed with his knees bent, a grubby composition book leaning on his thighs, a black ballpoint pen and smudges over the blade of his hand, chipped black nail polish and the political pins on the lapels of his denim jacket. Scribbling lines and editing them on the fly, his beautiful mouth moving over the syllables, weighing them, reconsidering. Re-writing the words he’d decided to keep but never really discarding the ones he didn’t, in case they were needed again another day. Danny as a bad-tempered kid who’d learned to fight because the world was cruel, finding another way to spill his heart, so he wouldn’t get tossed out of the boxing club.

Steve stared at the flyer a little longer, and found himself feeling dizzy with the need to understand what might be involved in a poetry slam, and how that might concern Danny. He memorized the time and the place, he made a mental note to write it in his organizer, and then he rolled away again, off to the rec center, in a better mood than he’d been in all week.

 

 

Danny never mentioned the poetry slam, and Steve started to wonder if it was actually something he did, or if he was just helping someone else out by putting up the posters. The night of, he dressed in what he might have reluctantly admitted were his best jeans, and a relatively new henley that wasn’t yet frayed around the collar, and he even shaved.

And then he spent over an hour with his hands on his push rims, trying to talk himself into going, or out of it, just drifting a foot forward and a foot back until he realized that if he didn’t go right then, he was probably going to miss it.

He wheeled his way across campus (early November and the days were already shorter, and the nights cooler) and to the scruffy coffee place that served cheap wine and beer in the evenings. He found the place a little strange. All the mismatched furniture and glassware, the bizarre tea combinations and even the artwork and posters… Steve had found himself there once before, months earlier, and hadn’t really known what to make of it, how he was supposed to act, or even if he liked it.

Of course, at the time, the place had been half-asleep. It was awake, now, and entirely itself.

Even from outside, Steve could hear the noise from inside, hands smacking the tops of wooden tables, and what sounded like a woman almost but not-quite rapping. There was no easy way to open the door and wheel himself in, but a couple of girls he vaguely recognized from his Mandarin class appeared and one held the door open for him with an absent smile.

The atmosphere was electric.

The woman on the makeshift stage had an incredible voice and appealing politics of a sort Steve had never really been exposed to, the feminism of a black woman in a white man’s Ivy League college, the first in her family to finish high school. She bemoaned the way people tried to explain things to her that she’d grasped intuitively as a child, the way they forgot she got into the school fair and square, forgetting some of them were there because they were legacies. Steve could feel his heart racing in his chest, as he sat in the back, watching and listening.

Danny’s friend Louisa, the lesbian who had given Steve the strange, amused look that first day with the coffee, pushed a jelly jar full of cheap red wine into his hand before Steve even noticed he’d parked beside the bench she was perched on (actually, it looked a bit like an old church pew), and Steve smiled gratefully. The combination of a floral dress and an ancient flannel shirt seemed unusual to Steve, but it wasn’t unusual in the room, so he figured it was one of those things he’d sort of missed, being tucked away with a couple of hundred men whose only decision about clothes in the morning was whether to wear boxers or jocks.

She didn’t try to talk to him — he wouldn’t have been able to hear a word anyway — but her expression was gentle, until she turned her attention back to the stage and she joined in a cry that seemed to have a rhythm understood by everyone in the whole place except for Steve. It was still a strange feeling to be on the outside of a group, when being on the inside was all he’d ever known.

He applauded as loudly as everyone in the room when the performer finished, though he couldn’t see her anymore, as everyone else had climbed to their feet, obscuring his view.

When they were all seated again, Steve’s heart skipped a beat. Danny was on the stage. With the lights, Steve was reasonably sure he couldn’t be seen, though that was a bit of a moot point with Louisa tossing a sidelong glance at him. Even if Steve escaped, she’d tell Danny he’d been there.

“I’m on a Whitman kick,” Danny said, grumbling, lifting the microphone and adjusting the height.

“So help me, Williams, I will beat your ass,” came a voice from the front row. A male voice. A male voice that made Danny smile. And laugh. Steve wanted to step out of his chair and punch the guy in the teeth. Danny shook his head, but the entire front row, the table to the left and behind them, along with Louisa and her friends, all joined in yelling something at him which Steve couldn’t fathom but Danny obviously understood.

“I hate you all, you’re a bunch of jerks, did I ever tell you that? Fuck each and every one of you, a pox on all your houses.” But he was smiling. “Fine, you win. No Walt.”

He shook his head, and wrapped his hand around the microphone, and breathed for a moment.

In the days following, Steve wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone what the poem had been about, but with his dying breath, he could have explained precisely how it made him feel. The imagery of the boxing ring, and wolves at the door, and an acid tide; the bitterness of a life still too sweet to set aside, the mouthful of hornets that he swallowed back every day. The need to repair the cracks he found in the world. As the stanzas moved on, Danny stumbled once or twice, with his eyes closed and his hand strangling the base of the microphone, sweat building up on his forehead, but somehow even the stumbling only increased the intensity. The clattering on the tables got louder, the whooping, the guys in the front row yelling “Faster, faster, faster!” Until Steve was genuinely concerned Danny might swallow his tongue. His face was tilted just so that Steve couldn’t pick out his features, but he knew what he’d see if he could; the red in the apple of Danny’s cheeks, the expression he wore on his face when he was concentrating, when something was really _important_ to him, and he was still doing what they told him to — faster and faster until he was spluttering and obviously needed to breathe, until his hand flew up, and the room fell silent:

“… And maybe, maybe everything really is gonna be alright, but not one of us will live to know either way. So do what you do, and do it like you mean it. Like it matters.”

The silence in the café was as deafening as the cacophony that followed. Steve shouted as loud as anyone else in the room, clapped as hard, wished he could stomp his feet the way everyone else was. He wished more than anything else that he could see Danny’s face, how _he_ felt about the way he made people feel. Steve wiped tears from his eyes and told himself they were nothing more than the inevitable side effect of sitting in a smoky room, and reached for his jar of wine, barely registering that it had been topped up. By the time people were in their seats again, Danny was sitting as well, with his back to Steve and a bottle of beer in his hand. His t-shirt was soaked around the collar, and his shoulders were slumped like he was exhausted. Which he no doubt was.

Everyone wanted to touch him. It seemed to be Danny’s gift. He was tactile; he made other people tactile too.

Steve hated everyone who was patting him on the back, or shaking his hand, or kissing his cheek (guys and girls alike, with no self-consciousness). And he pitied the guy who was going next. Not a lot of people could have replicated that kind of charisma on the stage. Or anywhere. He looked like he knew it, too, laughing at himself, resigned.

Steve turned to Louisa.

“Thanks for the wine,” he said. “Can I chip in for the bottle — uh, the jug?”

“You’re not really leaving, are you? After _that_? There’ll be a break in another ten or fifteen minutes. Just wait.”

Steve glanced across the room. The microphone stand suddenly wouldn’t hold itself up, and Danny was standing, trying to help.

“No, I really think I should go.” He gave her an uncertain smile. “He doesn’t need to know I was here, alright?”

Louisa’s condemning, exhausted expression made Steve feel about the smallest he had felt since the day his father had told him he was being sent to the mainland.

She shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, and Steve could read her expression like he could have read one of his own. She thought he was a coward. She was right.

Someone pulled the door open for him, and with a mumbled thank you, he slipped into the relative silence of the night.

That should have been the end of it, and would have been, if Steve hadn’t heard the pounding of a heavy pair of Doc Marten boots on the dark pavement behind him. Unmistakeable. He swiveled toward the sound and waited for Danny to catch up.

“You weren’t even gonna say hello?” Danny asked, hands shoved in his pockets, the heavy brown leather jacket he had started wearing as the weather cooled protecting the damp patch on his t-shirt. “Wow.”

“No, I… you looked like you were enjoying basking in the glory, there. The…”

Steve swallowed.

“The _well-deserved_ glory. That was amazing, it really was. I can’t even tell you. I’ve never seen anything like that. Any of it.”

Danny shrugged off the compliment, a little, but mumbled a thank you, and he looked pleased, sleepy eyes blinking slowly and his lips curling into a half-smile.

“I would have invited you. Didn’t think it was really your thing.”

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t think it was my thing either. Still not sure it is. But I know I’m glad I saw that. You were…”

Steve had never really been particularly good with words, and somehow they were coming even more awkwardly now that he knew Danny had a mastery of them he never could have imagined.

“You were electric,” he said, honestly, and this time Danny lit up. Steve wasn’t sure he’d offered someone a more genuine compliment in recent memory. “Who wrote the poem?”

“Uh… late twentieth century local boy with a chip on his shoulder.”

Steve’s eyes grew wider. “Right. I, uh… right. Well. And you want to be a cop? Not a…”

“If you were listening to the words, you’d know the answer to that, McGarrett.”

Steve missed when Danny used to call him ‘babe’.

They stood on the footpath, Danny with his hands in his pockets, the light from one of the security lamps making the tuft of hair creeping out from the V of his t-shirt shine like gold. Steve with his hands weighing heavily in his useless lap.

“I should go,” Steve said.

“Right. Or, we could get drunk and order a pizza.”

They stared at each other for longer than seemed wise.

“Fuck it,” Steve said. “Let’s get drunk and order a pizza.”

 

 

As they got closer to the student hub, Danny steered Steve in the direction of a cluster of old offices in dire need of refurbishment. Steve froze when he saw the sign, and the rainbow flag in the window. ‘Queer Student Support Service’, the sign said.

“Breathe, Steve, I left a bottle of cheap bourbon in my locker,” Danny said. “No one’s around, no one will see you.” So Steve followed him in, sitting in a common area with a few couches. On a coffee table was a pile of magazines and a huge fish bowl full of condoms. There were boxes of pins on the table, as well. He recognized the pride flag, and the linked Mars symbols, and the linked Venus symbols, even the clenched fist and peace signs. Danny was battling a lock in the back room, and a moment later Steve heard the snick of a padlock.

“What’s that flag pin?” Steve asked, when Danny came back, pointing at the small box.

“Bisexual pride,” Danny said. “Don’t worry, no one knows it. It was invented in December. But we’ll get it out there. The first international bi visibility day was last month. It was tiny, but it won’t always be. You wanna get out of here?”

Steve put his hands on the push rims of his chair and nodded, but kept looking around the room; posters about safe sex, drug use, a whole lot of different things he hadn’t really thought about.

“What do you do here?” he asked.

“Mostly just listen,” Danny replied, with a shrug. “I come and hang out when I can, same as the other volunteers, just to talk to anyone who needs to. Wednesday nights we take turns manning a help line for people who need to talk but can’t come in here. It’s 1999, it’s a breath away from the next century, and people still aren’t allowed to be who they are without being afraid that someone’s gonna come and make them regret it. I can’t fix it, Louisa can’t fix it, none of us can, but we can listen, and we can live out loud and love out loud and no matter what happens after that they can’t take it away from us. Come on.” He held the door open for Steve, and Steve took one last look around, at the tired bean bags and the comfortable-looking couches, at the posters on the walls and the bowl of condoms, and he wheeled himself out.

 

 

He didn’t say much more on the way to his dormitory; it was nicer to just listen to Danny rant away, and he didn’t even bother to argue when Danny handed him the bottle and took the handles of the chair instead of walking alongside, for the steep section as they approached Steve’s dorm from this angle. From time to time Steve provoked Danny, disagreeing for the sake of disagreeing, and Danny never disappointed, even stopping at one point to jab Steve in the shoulder and call him an ass. It was good that Danny couldn’t see his face. The smile would have taken a lot more explaining than Steve was willing to undertake.

“I’ll call for the pizza,” Danny said, pointing to the pay phone in the corridor. It wasn’t late, but there weren’t too many people around, on a Wednesday night, mostly tucked up in their rooms studying or watching television. Steve wheeled himself inside, and realized that there were not a lot of options for sitting. He didn’t even have a desk chair.

Well, fuck it, whatever. Danny had given up on trying to romance him. They’d be safe sitting on the bed. Steve leaned over to untie his shoelaces. He’d been sitting down for far too long, and needed to stretch his legs.

Danny eased through the door carefully, as if he was making sure not to bang into the chair, and closed it behind him. He looked sleepy and self-satisfied, expansive and cheerful, still glowing from his performance. He found a couple of mismatched coffee cups on the shelf over Steve’s tiny bar fridge top and poured them each a drink.

Steve wasn’t sure about swinging himself up onto the bed with an audience, but Danny had never made a scene about the chair and he was hardly going to start now, as Steve hoisted himself onto the bed, and carefully lifted his legs until they were stretched out in front of him. He sighed in relief. The afternoon’s PT had been intense. Had to be. He was about to start threatening bodily harm if they didn’t let him try to put some weight on his legs. If he didn’t start soon, the chances of being accepted back into the BUD/s program next year would be slim to none, and once he turned 25, it would be all over. So.

Danny handed him a mug, and sat alongside him on the bed, after spending about five years unlacing his tall boots and tossing them heavily to the side. He snatched the remote control from Steve’s hand and started flicking through channels.

“So you really liked it, huh?”

Danny tried to make it sound casual, but his eyes were glittering. Which was why Steve shrugged, and suppressed his smile. “It was alright.”

“You’re so full of shit it’s a wonder your eyes aren’t brown, McGarrett, you loved it. You looked so out of it when I caught up with you that I thought someone had given you one of the special cookies. Doubt that would go down well with the Army. Navy, _Navy_ , I know, babe, I just like to get a rise out of you, just as much as you like to get a rise out of me.”

“Giving yourself a lot of credit, there, Danny. You wanna watch a video? I borrowed a couple from the library.”

“Nice.” Danny hurtled himself down the bed, in the direction of the television, bubble butt sticking up on the air like an invitation. “Die Hard. I knew I liked you.”

“You were reading original poetry tonight, and now you’re excited about _Die Hard_?”

“First of all, did you see me reading? That was memorized, every letter. Second, you don’t think the boxing thing is the bigger contrast?” One of his hands waved wildly over his shoulder. “I don’t know, myself, genuinely asking. I don’t mind being a contradiction. I grew up worshipping at the altar of Springsteen and Bon Jovi. Jersey’s a good place to be a contradiction. It’s not Philadelphia, it’s not Boston, and it sure as shit’s not New York. It’s exactly what it is, no matter what anyone thinks about it.” He pushed the tape into the player.

Steve smiled, and sipped his drink, wondering if it would be hokey to roll his jeans up and give his legs a massage. Probably. They were sore, though.

“Contradiction,” Steve repeated. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

Steve tried not to watch as Danny repositioned himself at the head of the bed, sitting alongside Steve, their shoulders barely touching. He focused on the previews Danny apparently thought weren’t worth skipping.

“I don’t know.”

“Use your words, babe.”

“Cute, Danny.”

“Thank you.”

“I just mean…” A couple of (probably oversized) glasses of wine and a very generous slug of bourbon on an empty stomach were apparently making him foggy-headed. “I don’t know people like you. It seems like you look at the world and just… know you _like_ it, and you want to get your hands on it. You seem to love life. You’re an optimist. I don’t know. I’m saying it wrong.”

Danny said nothing, and Steve realized he’d stiffened beside him.

“Danny?”

“The world is a cesspit,” Danny murmured, but seemed disinclined to expand on that.

“You don’t believe that,” Steve answered. He took the remote, and hit pause, waiting for Danny to speak again.

“Bad things happen to good people. Hell, bad _people_ happen to good people. And to good things, I suppose. Always someone trying to tear something down. No one ever really gets what they want, I think, and if they do, they don’t want it any more. And no one gets what they deserve, good or bad. The next disaster is literally crouched around the corner waiting for you to be dumb enough to let down your guard. I’ve worked on that damn poem on and off for weeks, and you’re right, it’s good. It’s better than good, and it works better than anything else I’ve ever written for a performance, and since I shut my mouth on stage an hour ago all I’ve been able to think about is the fact that I’ll probably never write anything of that caliber again if I live to be a hundred. So, no, Steven. I’m not an optimist. I’m a realist.”

Danny tried to snatch the remote back, but Steve held it away from him.

“What?” Danny said.

“You really think that?”

“I know that.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want. You don’t really know me.”

“Sure I do,” Steve said. “I know you’re dedicated to your family, you care enough about people to help out at the — at that center of yours, I know you wanna be a cop and help out your old neighborhood… I know you barely have a minute to yourself because you run yourself ragged doing things for people. And _with_ people. _Around_ people. You like people, Danny. You care about people. Hell, you don’t even like me too much, and you still made an effort to include me in your study group, after I dumped a cup of coffee over you.”

Danny frowned. “I don’t like you? I’m here, aren’t I?”

It wasn’t quite what Steve meant, but he couldn’t find a way to say it differently; this mismatch he felt, about what Danny seemed to want from him, and what he was able to give. Putting this in words was too difficult and since Danny seemed to understand it better than Steve did, Steve said nothing, and Danny shrugged.

“That’s the only bit you’re gonna respond to? It’s not normal to think like that, Danny.”

“It’s fine. Like I said, I’m a realist. It’s not a bad thing, Steve. I’m hard to disappoint.”

Steve couldn’t say anything to that pointed comment, especially the way Danny caught his eye, as if to say it was okay.

“What keeps you going?” he asked.

“Same thing as anyone else. World might be a cesspit, but that keeps me busy. Trying to make it better is the rent we pay to be here and maybe something comes along from time to time that makes it worthwhile trying. I make my own meaning, I love my family, I work hard. I’m paying the rent, Steve. Same as you, when you’re out there fighting for the lives of people who will never know your name. Don’t move, I just heard the pizza guy beep.” He snatched Steve’s keys and climbed off the bed, surprisingly graceful.

Steve didn’t move. Moving would have been a lot of effort, and he was too off-kilter to try, wanting to offer some sort of help, or comfort, or affection, though Danny was so matter of fact about this spectacularly tragic worldview that it didn’t seem necessary.

Though Steve liked the idea of making _meaning_. That, he got. He’d done that with his life when he’d made the sacrifices he had, for the Navy. He still made those sacrifices every day. He was making one right now he regretted to the core of his being.

For the sake of _meaning_.

“Half-Hawaiian,” Danny said, bringing the box into the room and depositing it on the bed. He had a couple of bottles of coke dangling from his fingers as well. “It still sounds disgusting, and there had better not be _any_ pineapple touching my half, but seems like you could use a little reminder of home every now and then. So. Play the movie, McGarrett.” He smiled, and really, it looked like a good smile, an authentic and sincere smile. A Danny smile, like sunlight though a crack in the clouds. He reached for a slice of pizza and settled in against the head of the bed to watch the movie.

 


	4. Chapter 4

When Steve’s eyes opened, he was confused, and disoriented; at least partly because the video had finished playing, and the television screen was casting soft gray light over the room. Partly because he could taste bourbon on his tongue, and he had a mild headache. Mostly because he had his face buried in a warm neck, and his limbs seemed to be tangled up with someone else’s. Someone intensely familiar and comforting.

Danny.

Steve closed his eyes again. As soon as he moved, or as soon as Danny moved, this was going to be real, and then it was going to be over. For now, it felt better to stay exactly where he was. The urge was there to brush his hand over the warm expanse of back beneath the palm of his hand — no, to slip his hand up under Danny’s shirt and feel his skin, instead of the fabric in the way. On the odd occasion that Steve had spent the night with a woman (very rare; in his experience, it was better to keep it light, say goodnight, go home before they could get the wrong idea) he’d felt suffocated when he woke up still touching.

This felt so fucking good he couldn’t even think clearly. He wanted to sink into it and never move. Danny hadn’t moved, and Steve hoped he was still asleep. Hoped. But even if he couldn’t be sure, the temptation was there, and his thumb moved, skating across the soft, thin cotton.

Danny startled, and woke, and Steve’s heart sank. This was the moment to pretend to be asleep, and he knew it. Let Danny sneak out from under his arm and out the door and pretend, the next time they saw each other, that this hadn’t happened. After all, they were drunk.

(Except that they hadn’t really gotten very far on that bottle.)

Or be an adult, laugh about it, let Danny leave. Something, anything, but let Danny leave.

Danny shifted again, and tried to roll onto his back, and Steve’s hand tightened in the fabric of his t-shirt. They both moved their heads, far enough so they could see each other’s faces, in the soft gray light.

“I fell asleep,” Danny said, redundantly.

“We both did. I can tell you what happened at the end of the movie.” Maybe if he kept up the inane banter Danny wouldn’t mention the way Steve was, essentially, holding him in place. His legs ached a little. He didn’t usually sleep on his side, or at least, he hadn’t, for months. “Seen it once or twice before.”

“I bet you have, babe,” Danny said, closing his eyes again. There. _Babe_. Every time he said it Steve melted a little bit, and it didn’t even matter that it was a Dannyism. It sounded different, when he said it to Steve.

“You know this is what they call mixed messages,” he said, quietly, with his eyes still closed. His hair was a mess. It was endearing to know it wasn’t always coiffed so perfectly. “I can’t help thinking you need to do something about this head of yours. Get it straight. Or the opposite, if that works better for you.” Danny’s fingers idly brushed over Steve’s chin, and Steve sucked in a breath.

“I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve said. His voice came out barely above a whisper.

“You know, a couple of months ago that would have been enough to keep me here, Steve, but now I’m gonna need something a lot more specific. Because the smart money’s on me getting my heart broken here, because, and let me be clear on this, my heart is in this. Right here between us.”

He took Steve’s other hand and pressed the fingers lightly against his heart.

“See?”

Steve held his gaze for a long moment. He couldn’t feel Danny’s heart beating, not with the angle, but he knew that it was, right there, and it was good enough. He let his fingers trail over Danny’s chin, his jaw. He brushed his thumb over Danny’s lips, a little swollen, and felt Danny’s lips part, his tongue darting out like he needed to know what Steve tased like.

That, apparently, was enough for Steve.

“So _stay_.”

He angled his face to lean in, and Danny met him halfway, as small as the space was; their mouths met, and barely touched, and Steve felt Danny’s tongue press experimentally against his bottom lip.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and the second time their lips met, it was a real kiss. Gentle, but not tentative. More the feeling that there was only one chance for a first kiss and they should let it build, make it memorable. It was Steve who nudged Danny’s mouth open, when that moment came, much to his surprise; not that he wasn’t used to steering, but it seemed so bold, when a handful of hours ago he’d been reminding himself of exactly how _straight_ he was.

The need to touch Danny’s skin hit him again, and Steve shifted his hand, slipping it up under Danny’s shirt and letting his fingertips play over the dusting of hair. Not as much as on his chest and stomach, but it was a strange, alien feeling, so different to the smooth softness of a woman. Danny gasped against his mouth, and shifted closer, and Steve’s face flushed as he figured out far too late that what he was beginning to feel, pressed against his thigh, was Danny’s erection.

Shit.

He wanted to get his hands on it. He wanted to get his mouth on it. He realized, in passing, that he didn’t even object to the idea of letting Danny fuck him, of _asking_ Danny to fuck him. Not that he was remotely equipped for something like that here and he knew his legs were bound to fail him, but still, the thought was dizzying. He battered at the voice in the back of his head that said he should be ashamed of that, of _wanting_ that, and he moved to hook his leg over Danny’s, only to suck a hiss through his teeth when his lower leg shrieked at him.

“Don’t,” Danny said, and rolled Steve onto his back. He slotted a leg between Steve’s thighs, and pulled his t-shirt over his head, and Steve reached up to touch what turned out to be a lot more hair than he’d pictured, and a lot softer. When Danny lowered himself down onto Steve’s body, and kissed him again, Steve’s hips shifted automatically, and he rubbed his cock against Danny’s thigh helplessly. He wrapped his arms around Danny’s back, and held him closer. His shoulders and his broad back were so reassuringly real and present, and he rubbed against Steve’s thigh, harder by the second.

“Can I,” Steve asked, his hand moving down Danny’s side, and slipping between their bodies, moving down over the bulge in Danny’s jeans.

The jeans needed to go. Steve didn’t want to be in a rush, here, but he was painfully aware that even like this, he wasn’t going to last long, not with Danny so expertly rubbing that strong thigh between his legs.

“Wait,” Danny said.

“Is that a no?”

“No, it’s… yes, it’s a no, just wait, Steve. Wait.”

He rocked back on his knees, catching his breath, and Steve felt suddenly bereft, and cold.

“Babe. Steve.” Danny scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck, I’ve been here before. Feels like I’ve been here before.”

Steve pushed himself up on his elbows, breathing hard, ignoring another pang of pain in his knees and lower legs. He could ignore that, if Danny would just come back down here and kiss him some more, touch him some more, instead of whatever was happening now.

“You heard what I said, right?”

“Which part?” Steve asked, still turned on, but bewildered, now, as well.

“If you want me, Steve, I’m all in.”

Steve felt a pang in his stomach, and lay down again.

“Tell me you want me. Tell me you don’t give a crap about _don’t ask, don’t tell_. Tell me you’re not here because you’re trying to figure out if you’re into dick or not, because I can’t do that again.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. The Navy. _Don’t ask, don’t tell_. Danny. Danny and his belief that the world was a cesspool and he owed the world what he could do to make it better.

The intoxicating feeling of being himself, and that he, _himself_ , Steve McGarrett, temporarily wheelchair bound and permanently messed up, was enough, more than enough.

“Danny…”

Danny rolled off him and lay on his back, still breathing hard.

“It’s not that easy,” Steve said. He sounded pathetic to his own ears.

“No. I know. It never is.”

Danny’s voice was flat. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and Steve forced himself back up to a sitting position, tears burning his eyes and his jaw clenched hard.

“I like you, Danny, I do,” he started, and Danny reached for one of his boots. It took him forever to get the thing on over his foot, and almost as long to tie the laces.

“Yeah, Steve. I like you, too,” he said, as he pulled on the other one. “I think we could be really good friends. I think we _will_ be really good friends. But the rest of it — you know what, this is my fault, I pushed you and I shouldn’t have. I should have let it go a long time ago. I don’t know why I couldn’t. Or, no, I know, and I thought I did, and then when you showed up tonight I started to wonder if I got it wrong.”

It wasn’t Danny who’d got it wrong. It was Steve. But somehow, he couldn’t force his mouth to make the words. His head was full of the memories of a bunch of guys bragging about all the girls they’d slept with on a weekend of R&R in New York City. Asking Steve why he hadn’t gone with ‘that one girl’, always nameless, and Steve telling them he wasn’t interested because…

Because of Danny, or someone like Danny, with a hard body and strong arms. He couldn’t do it. He scrubbed his hand over his face.

“You don’t have to go,” he said, and Danny laughed mirthlessly.

“No, I do. I really do need to go, and I really am going. I like your company, Steve. I enjoy your company very much and I’d like to keep enjoying it, and if I let you do this to my heart I won’t be able to enjoy your company anymore. So this — whatever this was — it never happened and it won’t happen again, do you understand?”

Steve closed his eyes, and ignored the stabbing pain in his chest.

But it was for the best. Right?

“I’m sorry, Danny.”

“No, it was my fault. Like I said, I pushed, and I shouldn’t have.” Complete load of shit, and Steve only hoped Danny knew it as well as he did. But he didn’t say another word, as he pulled his t-shirt on and grabbed his jacket off Steve’s desk.

“Danny,” Steve said, as Danny reached for the door knob. The light in the room was still gray and flickering surreally. “Are you angry?”

“No, I’m not angry. I just need some time. I’ll see you in study group on Friday.”

“Okay.”

Danny hesitated another second. “Whoever you do work this out with… make sure it’s right, babe. For both of you. Sleep tight.”

And he was gone, just like that. He even took the empty pizza box with him. Steve slumped back onto the bed, and let relief and regret battle for first place in his exhausted heart. He tried not to focus. He didn’t want to know which would eventually win. He didn’t even bother to take his clothes off, just struggled his way beneath the blankets, and realized if he couldn’t work it out with Danny, he was never going to work it out.

And there it was again. Relief, and regret, and the full knowledge that he would take the easier path, in this one thing.

 

 

And once again, things changed. Not dramatically. Again. Steve debated dropping out of Rutgers and going home to Hawaii to finish his physical therapy at Tripler, but the thought that his father might not want him there put him off. And it wasn’t home, not anymore. Steve didn’t even know what home meant, anymore. It wasn’t the academy, or Coronado. It wasn’t this, here. If he’d been forced to say, he might have said he felt most at home when Danny was grinning at him, but that didn’t happen as often anymore. He’d even subtly shifted the seating in the study group so they weren’t sitting side by side anymore, which left a dull ache. He didn’t steer Steve in the direction of the café after their lectures anymore. He didn’t joke so much, or settle that gentle gaze on Steve’s face, the gaze that felt so much like sunlight.

And so the weeks went by.

Steve’s grades were excellent, but that knowledge did nothing to lift his mood. Which was new.

 

 

Since he’d finished an essay a week early and was looking to burn some time before PT, Steve headed upstairs into the sociology building to put it into the mailbox for his criminology class, and there was Professor Finch, with his dark black skin and his tightly curled silver hair, talking to one of the graduate students in the hallway. Steve hesitated to get any closer, but he’d come this far, so he nodded politely at them both and tried to submit the essay.

“Let me see that,” Finch said, and took it from his hand. “Gerard, I’ll let you get back to things. Steve, come to my office, will you. I’ve got a pot of coffee brewing and you look like you could use one.”

Unfortunately, Steve had time. Well over an hour before he could reasonably head to the rec center. He followed Finch to his office, with its imposing dark wood desk and the thousands of books, some standing neatly in the shelves, other in piles. The room smelled like paper, and cedar, and yes, freshly brewed coffee. Finch absently pointed at the jug, and sat down.

“Do you take sugar or anything?” Steve said.

“No, no, they tell me I’m sweet enough. This is good work,” he said, turning the page. “You’d have a skill for writing if you just let it go a little. This is college. Not just college, it’s a _liberal_ college. You don’t get extra marks for writing like you’ve got a stick up your ass, Steve. You get extra marks for using that brain of yours. You’re enjoying the class?”

“Yes, sir, it’s my favorite. Just don’t tell my Arabic professor.”

“Professor Hadrami?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s one hell of a woman.” He turned the page again, and scribbled a note. “How’s the PT going?”

“It’s going very well, sir, thanks for asking.”

“Remember the thing I said about the stick up your ass? Lose it, Steve. And tell me again how PT is going. Give me something to tell Joe next time he calls me pretending he wants to shoot the shit.”

Steve hesitated. “Well, I’m still in the chair,” he said. “But I won’t be, much longer. Tell Joe — actually, tell Joe to call me himself. And then tell him I start standing on my own two legs this afternoon.”

… he was hoping that was true. The afternoon would surely reveal all.

“I’ve known Joe for a very long time,” Professor Finch said, leaning back in his chair and reaching for the coffee. “Longer than he’d like to admit. There was a time when I was thinking about the Navy myself.”

“That would have been a terrible loss for the NYPD.”

“I agree,” Finch said, setting his mug down. It had a logo on the side that Steve recognized as an academic publisher. “I agree. But that wasn’t the point I was trying to make, Steve. You have a very sharp mind. I can tell you’ve read everything I’ve ever written, and you wouldn’t be the first student to do that in hopes of getting ahead. But you’d be one of only a handful who understood it, and didn’t just parrot my own words back to me.”

“Thank you, sir. It means a lot.”

This time, Finch only waved him off. “My point is — the Navy isn’t your only option. You’d make a hell of a cop. You’ve got options. That’s my point.”

“Thank you, sir. There’s no work more honorable. My dad was a cop.”

“I know.”

“If I wasn’t so certain my future was with the Navy, I’d consider that.”

“I see. Well, I’m glad we talked about it, anyway. You’d be a credit to Navy intelligence.”

“Thank you, sir. When it’s time for me to move on from the teams that sounds like something to consider. I should go, now, though, I have PT.”

Liar. He had plenty of time. But pretending not to be pissed that this guy, who didn’t even know him, was implying he couldn’t and wouldn’t get back to the SEALs was getting harder every second.

“Alright, Mr. McGarrett. Good luck on those legs,” Professor Finch said, and Steve excused himself with a handshake.

 

 

“I want to get on my feet,” Steve said, dressed in shorts and a tank instead of his boardies, because he was fucking done with the runaround. Tulip looked tired.

“Alright,” she said. “Alright. Fine. But Steve, you have to let me set the pace, because if you fall, you’ll make things worse. So if I tell you to put twenty percent of your weight on your legs, you do it. And if you’re still on twenty percent in three weeks, you are. And you don’t get to drop hydrotherapy, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re getting muscle tone back in your legs, which you need. And you’ve gained a lot of muscle in your arms, shoulders, and chest, and guess what? If you want to stagger around campus on crutches, you’re going to need those even more than your leg muscles, for a while. We’ll up the weight training, and I’m asking the doc to refer you for more X-rays, and so help me god, Steve, if you’re an idiot about this, I will break your legs again and make you start over. Are we clear?”

Steve opened his mouth, and Tulip pressed a finger to his lips, keeping him silent.

“I’m actually good with you just nodding. I get it, Steve, you’re a big strong Navy boy and you can beat anything. But me, I know bones, I know muscle, I know _healing_ , and I know that if you’re not back in Coronado in July it won’t be the end of the world. But I think if you end up stuck in the chair for the rest of your life because you’re an idiot, it’s going to _feel_ like the end of the world. So. Keep your mouth closed, and nod your head.”

Steve glared resentfully, and then nodded as she pulled her finger away. “Has anyone ever told you you’re extremely bossy?” he said, arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re joking, right? How many people a day do you think manage to _refrain_ from telling me that?”

But true to her word, she let Steve start on the parallel bars, coaching him along, step by painful step while Damien walked ahead of him, ready to steady him if he fell.

Somehow, Steve had been sure that if he wanted it badly enough, the universe would throw some inspirational music over cloud radio and he’d find himself doing it. A montage sort of scene where people were wiping tears from their eyes and Steve walked away from the bars with his hands in his air. Something rousing. _Eye of the Tiger_. _Chariots of Fire_.

Maybe something by Springsteen. Fuck, Danny had broken his brain.

It felt like he’d been at it for five minutes, but by the time he had walked from one end to the other and back again, Steve was drenched in sweat and it had been closer to twenty. He slung an arm around Damien’s shoulder and allowed himself to be deposited back into the chair.

He was grinning.

It took him a couple of moments to notice it, really feel it, but he was grinning.

Fuck Professor Finch. Fuck Joe White. Fuck the doctors who’d said he might have to accept that getting back to the SEALs might not be a realistic goal, and fuck Vince, even, who’d asked what his backup plan was. He was going to beat this fucking thing.

“You’re a lot of work,” Tulip said, with her arms crossed, but she was smiling too. “Now, be a good little SEAL and go for a swim. I’m not asking.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, with a ballsy little salute, wheeling himself out of the gym and back to the changing room.

 

 

Late one night, drinking coffee before the library closed and they were all booted out, the subject turned to Thanksgiving. Louisa was flying home to see her family on Saturday, in Oklahoma. She bitched and moaned about the place, but she sounded happy enough to be going. She clutched the last of her hot chocolate from the vending machine tightly in her hands, with a little smile on her face. Two of the guys in the group were driving to Maine for the same thing. They hadn’t known each other before college, but their families lived only fifteen miles apart, in Portland.

Danny cheerfully told them he was doing the same thing he did every year; getting to his family’s house early enough in the morning to save everyone from letting his mother try to do the turkey.

“She’s not much of a cook?”

“The woman thought macaroni with ketchup and cheddar cheese was a nice treat,” Danny growled. “We all figured out how to cook by the time we were old enough to hold knives.”

Steve would be spending the day in the dorm, watching movies, pretending to get some work done, trying to hold himself in a standing position for a full minute every hour or so, and ordering Chinese food. Which he didn’t want to admit.

“I should go,” he said, pretending to yawn. Pretending to yawn stimulated a real one, making a pathetic liar out of him, and he shoveled his books into his backpack and slung it over the back of his chair. He smiled brightly. It probably looked as fake as his first yawn had sounded. “Guess that’s it until after the break. Happy Thanksgiving and safe travels, everybody,” he said, to everyone. He nodded at Danny, who only had a few miles to travel but probably needed to make sure he arrived safely for the sake of the turkey and the rest of his family. And Steve was out the door, wending his way through corridors to the elevator.

He listened vainly for the sound of footsteps behind him, all the way to the dorm. None came.

 


	5. Chapter 5

It was surprisingly depressing, realizing he was going to be on his own for Thanksgiving. Not that it had ever been what it was, after his mother’s accident, but there had been people around, friends, teammates, even Joe White, from time to time. Not everyone could afford to fly home for the holidays. Not everyone was welcome at home. But here, in his cell, with nowhere to go and no one to talk to, Steve had to admit he felt pretty miserable. Which was why, when he woke up at six in the morning, he pushed himself into action, rather than risking the spiral into an extended wallow. He took a long shower, sitting on the hated plastic chair, trimmed his stubble (actually shaving felt like such a waste of time) and dressed. After a depressing breakfast of cold granola in the almost-empty cafeteria most people called the mess (mostly because it usually was one), he set about the day with grim determination.

He sat down with his appointment book and made a list of everything he wanted to get through while he didn’t have anyone to bother him. Yeah, the peace would be _great_. Exactly what he needed.

It was just after oh-nine-thirty when there came a knock. Probably someone coming to ask if he had any coffee. He wheeled across the room and opened the door.

 _Danny_.

Steve felt his face crack into the widest smile he’d made in weeks, and Danny grinned just as wide, that dazzling smile that lit up the room, every corner of Steve’s heart, and honestly, the rest of his life, as well.

“Danny,” he said. This was the first time they’d been alone since that night.

“Hey,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Steve nodded. “You, too. You on your way to your parents’ place?”

“Yeah, I’m going home.” He turned and gestured in the general direction of the external doors. “I borrowed a car.”

“Fancy,” Steve said, still grinning. Seemed odd; Danny usually caught the bus, and even if he didn’t, it wasn’t the most onerous walk. “Is everyone gonna be there?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, no. New Jersey Williamses. A couple of Morettis. It’s usually a pretty good day. My sisters made a few pumpkin pies yesterday, and they swear the turkey is thawed and waiting for me to dress it and stuff it. We’re traditionalists, I guess. Or as traditional as a Jewish-Italian-Irish family in New Jersey can be. There’s a lot of yelling, a lot of beer, we watch the game in the afternoon and pass out in a carbohydrate and tryptophan coma afterwards until someone gets hungry and it’s time for leftovers. It’s a bit overwhelming, or so I’m told,” he finished, gesturing again. Steve didn’t care. In that moment, he would have cheerfully stitched his mouth closed so as not to disrupt anything, if it meant being able to be there with Danny. He felt the smile try to fall, but kept it as real as he could. He could feel from the tightness in his eyes and cheeks that he was failing.

Danny buttoned his jacket, and Steve noticed the pink, purple and blue pin on his lapel. He wondered if Danny’s family knew he was bisexual. Somehow, he thought they probably did.

“A couple of my dad’s crew are gonna come. So it’s not just Williamses. That happens most years. You know, after thirty, forty years, sometimes the wives decide they can’t be married to a guy who keeps running into burning buildings. We have a long and proud tradition of feeding strays. There’s a couple of dogs, too, also strays, yes. I mention this in case you’re allergic.”

“Allergic?”

“Well, I borrowed a car. We can put the chair in the trunk, I think. Looks like it folds up pretty neat.”

Steve actually felt his eyes go wide, and Danny laughed.

“Get your coat, Steven. And prepare to meet the family.”

 

 

When they arrived at Danny’s house, the first thing Steve noticed was a couple of boards leaning on the steps up to the house. Danny adjusted them without a word and pushed him up onto the landing. “Gird your loins,” he said, mournfully, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

It had to be a wonderful feeling, having family who were so fucking happy to see you, even when it had only been a few days. For a moment Steve wondered what his own father was doing, but only briefly; he’d have a regular day, order Chinese food, watch the game, maybe work on the Mercury for a little while, if he was still doing that. Go swimming. Go to bed. Get up in the morning and go back to work like it had been any other day.

But not the Williamses. Steve was ready to shake hands, but apparently, all the Williamses were huggers with the exception of Mr. Williams — no, _Eddie_ , Steve tried to school himself. They didn’t look remotely surprised to see him there, or by the chair, with the exception of Danny’s nephew Eric who wanted to know if he could have a turn.

It was all that Steve had hoped for. And it was so much more.

Danny was right; his family did everything _loudly_. They insulted each other gleefully, they laughed, they argued about stuffing, all of it at top volume. They didn’t have a whole lot in the way of verbal filters, either, so it had been all of ten minutes before Mrs. Will––… _Clara_ asked him what had happened.

“Ma!” Danny shouted. “You don’t just ask these things.”

“Why not?” Steve asked. “You did. It’s fine, Mrs… Clara. It was an accident, happened a couple of days after I started training. I had my legs crushed. They’re full of plates and pins, but a few days ago, I got on my feet for the first time. I’ll be out of the chair permanently in a few months.”

Danny did a double take, and when Steve chanced a look at him, he looked mystified, and then pleased. He gave Steve an acknowledging nod and went back to chopping onions for the stuffing.

“My children don’t let me cook,” Clara said, pouring herself a glass of wine. “So it’s their fault I’m drinking at eleven in the morning. Would you like a glass?”

Steve guffawed. “I don’t think I could. Breakfast was a little thin.”

“Oh, well. I might save you some,” she said, and swanned into the sitting room while the kids continued to commandeer the kitchen.

Danny set Steve up at the dining table, since he couldn’t easily reach the counter, with a pile of potatoes and a peeler. “I’m sure you learned to do this in the Army,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. For a second, Steve thought he might not rise to the bait, but he was obviously supposed to, the way Danny’s eyes glittered like that.

“It’s the _Navy_ , Daniel,” he said, with his grumpiest face on. Fooling no one.

“Steve was training to be a seal before the accident,” Danny told Bridget, conspiratorially. She was in her junior year in high school and obviously adored her big brother.

“Can you balance a ball on your nose, Steve?” she asked, innocently, in a way that told Steve they’d rehearsed that in advance, probably whenever Danny had flagged that he would like to bring Steve with him. Something about that, and the way Danny had gone out of his way to borrow his lovely cousin Maria’s car to make it happen, made Steve’s stomach do flip-flops, and he wished for the thousandth time since it had happened that he hadn’t ruined everything that night.

“Will they take you back?” Bridget asked, and this time, it really was innocent.

“That’s my plan,” Steve said. “I guess I’ll have to see how I go, won’t I. I’m sure it’ll be fine. There’s a lot of career paths open for a guy who can balance a ball on his nose.”

And then _Stella_ and Danny shared a look and grinned, and it seemed clear that Danny’s older sister knew things as well.

Oh, to be a fly on the wall, anywhere and everywhere Danny Williams went. He wondered, as he peeled potatoes, if Danny had talked to Stella about him in terms of a guy he’d met and was interested in, or whether it was just ‘this guy in my criminology course who’s in Jersey for a year while he’s stuck in a wheelchair’. Given the degree of scrutiny Steve felt under her eyes, he would bet it was the first, and wasn’t sure how he felt about it; especially if she also knew how spectacularly Steve had fucked up. He wondered, too, whether Stella might have told Danny to give him another chance, or whether she would have told him to cut his losses and embrace the friend.

He didn’t know which he thought was preferable, except when he thought about the Navy, and then the decision was pretty obvious.

Yeah, Steve. _Embrace the friend_.

Anyway, there wasn’t a lot of space for him to think about that kind of garbage. Just trying to follow the trail of half a dozen different conversations at once was an interesting challenge, answering questions when they were barked at him, and cutting the potatoes into neat half-inch cubes, as directed (though Danny did tell him, quite appalled, that he didn’t need to be quite that precise, and he wouldn’t be tested on it later). And, because he was a masochistic idiot, slinging just enough barbs at Danny to keep their banter going, goading Danny into poking him in the shoulder or grinning at him.

Felt like maybe they were getting back to where they were before, and Steve felt at home, amongst family that was nothing like anything he’d ever known before.

Lunch was later in the day, but no one cared, when there was food on every surface. Though the smell of Danny’s stuffing, and the turkey, was making Steve salivate. He hadn’t eaten an actual home-cooked meal in years, and probably nothing this elaborate ever. One by one, salads came together, as Steve whipped cream by hand (Danny had pointed out that there was no point in having Navy arms if he wasn’t going to use them in the service of pumpkin pie, and Steve had rolled his eyes to detract from the blush that was threatening to color his cheeks, while hollering back that Danny and his boxer’s arms were lazy turds). Eddie’s co-workers arrived, and then Uncle Vito and a couple of the others who Steve had met at the restaurant, greeting him warmly. Vito, and his _this guy, this guy_ , like they’d known each other for years, the endless handshake, before he wandered off to check that Danny wasn’t ruining a perfectly good bird.

Steve spent a lot of the time just listening, soaking it up. Happy in a way he couldn’t remember having been, too often. He might have imagined being overwhelmed, but he felt embraced, instead, though maybe there was only a very fine line between the two.

At lunch, Danny sat next to Steve, for the first time in weeks. He batted at his shoulder when he was pretending to be annoyed, squeezed Steve’s forearm to emphasize a point, stabbed at things he wanted on Steve’s plate just to get a reaction, and Steve never disappointed, actually wrestling the fork from Danny’s hand at one point, to Bridget’s delight. It felt like the early days. It felt good. Easy. Whatever new balance they’d managed to strike, here, it felt right.

Steve made a decision, silently. Whatever happened, he was going to keep Danny in his life. If it meant sending an email every few weeks when he got a chance, if that was all he could ever get, he’d do it. It was rare to find a friend this good, this loyal, who would give him chance after chance when he screwed up repeatedly, apparently incapable of managing normal friendships in the real world. It might have been the booze talking, but truly, Steve didn’t think so.

He and Danny smiled at each other, and tapped their beer bottles together, and slipped back into their roles; the loud, loving son and brother and nephew, and the reserved stranger just barely holding his own.

 

 

Late in the afternoon, after the game, people really did drift off to nap, which surprised Steve. With so many people around, it seemed strange, like maybe it was time to just go home, and Steve thought maybe he should think about doing that himself. But somehow, instead, he and Danny wound up in the den, watching Twilight Zone repeats on an ancient television. They were both a little drunk. Enough to lubricate the tongue without getting morose. Bridget and Matty and Eric joined them soon afterwards. Eric mostly looked bored by the old special effects and played something on a hand-held game Steve wasn’t familiar with, instead of watching, but was paying enough attention to make a smart comment at every opportunity.

Eventually it was time for leftovers and a battle for the rest of the pumpkin pies.

Should be said; the fight over the last of the pumpkin pies was one of the best parts of the day. Eddie had suggested mildly that since Steve was the only guest left, they should let him go first, but he was shouted down summarily. It was generally agreed that if Steve had any hope at all of surviving a holiday with the Williamses, he had to learn to fight for it. Which he did, mercilessly, and grinned widely over the largest piece of pie, much to the amusement of everyone except Danny, who complained at the top of his considerable lungs and stole bites every chance he got, once he’d finished with his own, much smaller piece.

 

 

“Steve, we have a guest room,” Clara said. She was tipsy and slurring, but cheerful and frankly charming (easy to see where the kids all got it from, certainly not their gruff father, although Danny’s grumpiness was definitely courtesy of the Williams’ side of the family and not the Morettis’). “Danny, don’t put him on the couch.”

“Well, ma, I’d carry him up the stairs, but he’s eight feet tall and I’ve got a bum knee. So the couch will have to do.”

“Oh, of course. Well. It doesn’t seem right, that’s all, with Stella’s room empty and ready.” She and Eric had left once the pies were demolished, since Eric was almost falling asleep at the table. “Will you be comfortable, Steve? I don’t know about this.” The wine in her hand seemed to help, though. By the way she was doing her best to finish it. Like it was some kind of a thinking aid. Perhaps it was.

“Right now, Clara,” he said, not even complaining as Danny helped to ease him onto the couch; it was lower than Steve was used to, and he needed the help, and somehow it wasn’t uncomfortable accepting it. “Right now, I think I’ve had enough to drink so I could sleep sitting up in the chair, so I’ll be fine. _Please_. Thank you. I mean it one hundred percent when I say this is the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.”

She seemed to mostly take that the right way, but there was a curl in the tail of her expression, like she thought that was terribly sad.

He arranged his legs on the couch, and didn’t even notice Danny sit behind him until he tried to lie down and instead landed against a strong shoulder. He got comfortable. It _was_ comfortable. _Danny_ was comfortable. Steve took a breath; his head was swimming, and not just from the booze.

“Thanks for inviting me, buddy,” Steve said, and Danny patted his chest. “I wasn’t looking forward to spending the day on my own. I meant what I said to Clara — I’ve never had a Thanksgiving like this before.”

“So all the yelling was a nice change of pace?”

Steve guffawed. And he wondered, briefly, if Danny might just stay where he was to sleep, remembering how easily he’d slept with Danny in his bed just a few weeks ago, even if it was only for a few hours.

“I’d better drag my ass upstairs,” Danny said, and with great reluctance Steve moved to let him slip out from behind him. He didn’t even object when Danny arranged a couple of cushions to support his back. “I’m glad you came, Steve.”

He reached for Steve’s hand, and Steve gripped it back. His fingers felt so warm where they were touching.

“Danny…”

“Yeah babe.”

But Steve had no idea what he was going to say next. I’m sorry, I love you, I fucking _love you_ , if I could do it over again I’d do it different, _could you ever imagine_ … give me another chance, I won’t fuck it up next time.

But the Navy. And hiding. And Steve knew it didn’t even matter what he said, this just couldn’t work. So he gave Danny’s fingers another squeeze, and smiled at his tired, wary expression.

“Goodnight,” he said. Danny’s expression was sad, for just the shortest moment, and then he nodded, and gave Steve a smile, before sticking his hands in his pockets and heading off up the stairs. A moment later, the last of the downstairs lights flickered off, and Steve found himself quickly drifting off to sleep.

 

 

Steve didn’t think he’d slept late without the influence of opiates in about ten years, but when he woke the next morning, he had indeed slept in. Danny and Bridget were talking quietly in the kitchen, and apparently, making pancakes, by the running commentary.

“I like him,” Bridget was saying. “And he’s cute, too.”

“Congratulations on having eyes,” Danny deadpanned. “And remember how I said we weren’t talking about this, and especially not when he’s in the next room? I get that you still have a year and a half of high school left, but I thought your English comprehension was better than that. Not the beaters, Brij. You’ll wake him up.”

“Are you going to invite him for Christmas?”

“I don’t think so. I’m sure he’ll be spending it with his own family.”

“It doesn’t really sound like they’re the most celebratory bunch of people. You should ask, at least.”

“Brij,” Danny said, with a warning in his tone.

“It’s just, it’s been so long since you were with someone. Happy.”

“You watch far too much television. It is possible to be happy on your own. Can I suggest you stop watching Dawson’s Creek like it’s a documentary?”

“Maybe some people,” Bridget said. “Not you.”

“When’d you get so grown up, huh? Shut your mouth and find the blueberries, would you. I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“And chocolate chips?”

“You’re disgusting. And yes, obviously, chocolate chips.”

Steve closed his eyes. Yeah, he really should go home for Christmas. See his father. It had been so many years, maybe he owed it to both of them to try.

As other people started to pour into the living room from upstairs, sleepy, hung over, hair messy, though in Clara’s case already wearing a full face of makeup, Steve decided it was safe to move. He dragged his legs over the edge of the couch and waved blearily, until Danny came around from the kitchen.

“It lives,” he said, gesturing in a way that suggested he was comparing Steve to some kind of swamp monster, and, given how much Steve had drunk the day before — and the night before, come to think of it — didn’t seem all that inaccurate. He pretended to glare at Danny, whose eyes twinkled. “You want a hand to get in the chair? Come on,” he continued, pushing it closer and putting an arm around Steve to help him up.

“Wait, Danny,” Steve said, when he was on his feet. “Just… let me stand for one second.”

It felt so good. Now that he’d walked with the parallel bars, it was like a drug, despite the mild ache in his legs. He grinned at Danny, and Danny grinned back, and when Clara came around the corner she made a little pleased noise and stood, watching, sipping her coffee until Matt pulled her back into the kitchen.

“Wow, babe. You’re taller than I thought. Come on. Don’t overdo it. I don’t want your therapists coming at me with torches and pitchforks. We’ll have some breakfast and then I’ll get you back to the dorm.”

Steve let Danny lower him into the chair, and followed him out to the dining room, where a stack of pancakes about two feet high was waiting for them all. Along with a lot of yelling, and talking over each other, and some-good-natured ribbing about how Steve could walk just fine, but preferred to be chauffeured around.

On the way back to the dorm, Danny was uncharacteristically quiet.

“You had fun?” he asked.

“I did. I had a lot of fun. I don’t know what I was expecting, but that… that was a lot of fun. You’re a good cook,” he said, and Danny fairly glowed.

“I don’t know if you’ve got plans for Christmas, but you’d be welcome to come back again. No pressure. They like you. I like you. It might be fun.”

“Christmas? Isn’t your family Italian Jewish?”

“And Irish Catholic, what’s your point? We’re Americans, we do Christmas. We _over_ do Christmas, as a matter of fact.”

Steve sighed, and scratched his head. He desperately needed a shower, and he was debating the wisdom of trying to do it standing up.

“I’ve been thinking about going to Hawaii. I haven’t seen my dad in eight years. I thought…”

“No, that’s good. That’s the right thing to do. Will you be back for New Year’s?”

“Yeah, I will. Was that another invitation?”

“Only to a party. Louisa has friends off campus. Think about it, anyway. It was a good time last year. Cheap booze, lots of food, and you can see three different lot of fireworks from the back yard. Plus, if the millennium bug turns out to be a real thing, there’s safety in numbers. Body heat, and all.” Danny’s brows waggled, and he shot a look at Steve out of the corner of his eye.

Steve snickered. “Your lines are getting worse. But no, that sounds good. Maybe we can call Australia in the afternoon, and if it’s disappeared, we can plan the rations accordingly.”

Danny helped Steve back into the chair, outside the dorm, and they stood in the cool, bright air for a long moment, just looking at each other.

Steve was out of defenses. He might not have wanted to be, but he was in love. With Danny. No point pretending otherwise any more than there was any point in imagining where it might be able to go. He could feel it, in his bones, the way he would carry this secret in his heart, all the way back to Coronado, all the way through his second lot of BUD/s training, and into the rest of his life, even if it meant he’d always be lonely; _I’m in love with Danny Williams_.

“I guess it’s time to hit the books. Exams soon.”

“I have to get Maria’s car back to her, but I can come by later and work on the criminal procedure final, if you want.”

“I want. I’ll order food. I’ll see you later, Danny,” Steve said, and Danny climbed back into the driver’s seat and took off for his cousin’s house. Steve watched him drive away.


	6. Chapter 6

It turned out that the last day of finals meant a whole lot of drinking. Steve was quietly grateful to be in the chair so he couldn’t fall over. Though he’d spent more time on his feet in December than he’d thought he’d be allowed to; even managed to move around his dorm room a little, as long as he stayed close to the walls, so he could hold himself upright. They were in the same café where Danny’s friends had their poetry slams, and it was packed to the rafters, thick with cigarette smoke and everyone in the place was drunk on cheap booze. Danny sat by Steve, quiet and content.

“When do you fly back to Hawaii?” he asked.

“Red eye tomorrow night,” Steve answered, shrugging. He was dreading the flight almost as much as he was dreading the trip, but money was tight and that was the only one he’d been able to afford.

“Listen, if it doesn’t go so good, you just call, okay? You’ve got the house number. I’ll be heading there from the 22nd until probably the 27th or so and then I’ll be back here.”

“Thanks, Danny. It’ll be fine. I’m sure it will be. Once he gets over the shock.” Steve didn’t actually believe that, but he was determined to make it work. He even had a gift tucked into his suitcase for his father. Not much, but it was something. “Won’t be as much fun as you’re having, but I’m looking forward to getting into the real water again. Chlorine is killing my soul.”

“Like you have a soul.” Danny was yawning. “C’mon, babe. They’re gonna kick us out of here, soon. Let me walk you back to the dorm. And then I’m gonna sleep all day tomorrow and not even glance at a book.”

Without talking about it, when they got back to Steve’s room, they returned to the half-drunk bottle of bourbon that Danny had brought with him the disastrous and wonderful night of the poetry slam, and stretched out on the bed to watch television, eyes swimming. And when Danny fell asleep, and curled unconsciously into Steve’s side, Steve just let himself enjoy the sensation while he could.

 

 

“What are you doing here, son?”

Steve’s smile faltered. He hadn’t exactly been expecting a parade, but he didn’t expect John to look as though he really didn’t want him there, either. As if he was intruding, as if he should have known better.

“It’s been eight years, dad. I thought it was time we reconnected, spent the holidays together.”

John nodded at the chair and moved out of the way, looking out at the street like he was concerned about surveillance before he closed it behind them.

“I don’t know how we’ll get you upstairs to your room,” he said. Which was practical, yes, and a consideration, but didn’t seem to be as important to Steve as catching up after so many years.

“I’ll sleep on the couch. It won’t be a problem. I’m getting pretty good at this, and I’m on my feet a lot more than I was a few months ago. Even a few weeks ago. Joe called you, right?”

John nodded.

Steve wanted to scream, or cry, or go back in time and stop himself from spending most of his remaining savings on an expensive plane ticket to see someone who clearly didn’t give a shit. He also wanted to know why his father hadn’t called, but he knew he’d never ask.

But John seemed to realize that he’d been cold, because he leaned down to give Steve a quick, awkward hug. “It’s good to see you, son. Freshen up, and I’ll go to the store. Get something for a good brunch. Maybe we could grill steaks for dinner.” He didn’t sound sincere, but he was trying, and perhaps after eight years that was really the best that Steve could hope for.

Steve took a shower in the downstairs bathroom, on his feet, struggling but determined, and changed into a pair of soft, faded jeans and a tank he hadn’t worn in months. Hawaii was warmer than he had remembered. The thought made him smile as he wheeled himself around the living room, looking at photographs and the spines of books.

Nothing in here had changed in all the years since he’d last been in Honolulu. Nothing. He wondered if his mother’s clothes were still in the closet upstairs. He wouldn’t have been surprised if they were, but he really didn’t want to know.

After a stilted brunch on the lanai, Steve said he was going for a swim. The last few yards from his chair, left on the grass, to the water, were interminable and difficult and it didn’t seem to have occurred to John to offer to help, but once Steve was in the water, he was reminded why the islands drew everyone back, eventually. The salt water was a cure-all, everyone knew that. It eased away the ache, no matter where the ache lay.

He wondered if Danny would like it here, pineapple on pizza notwithstanding. It was difficult to imagine him away from tarmac and skyscrapers. Danny loved the city like few people Steve had ever known, but maybe it was just that all the people he loved were in Jersey, or close enough, at least. Even Matt, going to college in New York, came home at least once every couple of weeks.

After his swim, Steve stumbled and limped back to the beach. Difficult, but exhilarating. He sat on one of the old chairs that looked over the water, letting the sun dry the salt onto his skin. He didn’t intend to doze, but he did, only waking when he felt a hand on his shoulder that definitely wasn’t his father’s.

“Chin Ho Kelly,” he said, grinning, as Chin took the other chair, grinning widely. “I haven’t seen you in… well.”

“No, from memory, once you’d smashed all my quarterback records, you disappeared to the mainland before my cousins could catch up with you. Which was smart.”

Chin Ho was a handsome guy, and Steve remembered abruptly that this man right here had been his first serious crush, back when he was coming to Steve’s games with John and joking around afterwards, or coming back to the house for lunch. He was John’s partner at HPD, now, had been for years. It was a strange thought. And it had been many years since Steve had thought about it.

“Your dad called, asked me to come by for dinner, maybe take you out for some drinks with the boys.” He looked mildly apologetic, realizing that Steve had actually come home to see his father, but since it seemed that this handful of hours was about as much of each other that either was going to be able to take, Steve was actually grateful. He figured he could use the company. And quite possibly, Chin Ho was the only person on the island who would tell Steve what was going on with his father. Since it was clear his father wasn’t going to.

“Yeah. I wasn’t expecting a red carpet, but whatever this is, I wasn’t expecting it, either,” Steve said, trying to keep his face neutral but knowing full well he was failing. “He feels like a stranger.”

“He loves you,” Chin Ho said. “He might not have any idea how to show it, but he does. Give him a day or two, and then talk to him. I’d suggest Scotch, to get his tongue wagging, but don’t expect miracles. Come on. I brought some beer. We’re meeting people at Side Street later. Cops, mostly, but you went to school with a couple of them.”

“You don’t have to sell it, Chin. I’ve only been here a few hours and I’m already in need of a break.” He smiled, and shrugged. “Could you help me get to the chair? I probably overdid it.”

Probably. That was an understatement. Somewhere, Tulip and Damien had probably felt a frisson of rage they couldn’t explain. Danny, too, in all likelihood.

Ugh, Steve missed Danny.

Maybe he’d call tomorrow.

 

 

Dinner was sedate — McGarrett for _stilted_ — with Chin Ho working far too hard to carry the conversation when it became clear that the topics John was willing to talk about came from a very short list indeed, and that his earlier conviction that Steve could do anything he set his mind to had evaporated somewhere along the line. Was it when Steve had found himself in a wheelchair, or earlier than that? He really didn’t want to ask. He also didn’t want to listen anymore, because John, who hadn’t seen fit to manage more than a birthday card in years, was now trying to tell his only son that he needed to be realistic about his options.

“I am being realistic about my options, sir,” Steve said, feeling a wall of ice descend between himself and his father, splitting the scratched dining room table in half, and Chin Ho along with it. “I have good physical therapists who are supporting me to get on my feet more every week, and I’ll be back in Coronado in July, as fit as I ever was.”

“You can’t know that, son,” John said. “I’m just saying you have more options than just this one. I know the requirements for getting into SEAL training as well as you do, and we both know you might never get there again.”

“Your faith in me is moving,” Steve said.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Steve. You’re a big, strong, fit young man. Top 1%. But you know the chances of being in that top 0.1% again are not good.”

“I think I’ve eaten enough,” Steve said. “Chin Ho, I think you said something about a bar?”

John threw his napkin on the table. “Good idea,” he said. “Go. Both of you.”

Steve said very little on the drive to the bar, and Chin Ho had the sense not to push it. It wasn’t until they were right outside Kukui High School’s football field that Steve realized they were going the wrong way. Chin idled the car, and Steve stared out at the grass.

“He’s always talked about you,” Chin said, quietly. “His son, breaking records, getting commendations from the academy, training for BUD/s. Your languages, your smarts… I mean, my parents were proud of me, but they never talked like the actual sun shone out of my ass, not like John did. _Does_.”

Steve shook his head. “That doesn’t mean shit if he doesn’t believe in me _now_. I don’t know why he can’t see that. You know, it took me years to realize I lost two parents that day. Not just my mother. Some spark went out in dad’s eyes, and I’m never gonna get him back, as long as we live. And the thing I hate the most about it is that I don’t even know why. I always figured we were like a package deal, with mom, and if he couldn’t have her then he didn’t want us. It hurt. It still does.”

If he closed his eyes, Steve could imagine the roar of the crowds in the stands. Kukui High didn’t look any different, eight years later. Maybe it never would.

“I don’t understand it either,” Chin said, and reached out to give Steve’s shoulder a gentle, affectionate squeeze. Steve hadn’t realized how touch-starved he was, or maybe he was just depressed. Who fucking knew.

“Hey, Chin?”

“Yeah, brah.”

“Just so you know, I’m broke, and drinks are on you.”

Chin laughed, as he pulled away from the curb and in the direction of the bar.

 

 

Steve had never really been the kind to drink to forget his troubles. No real room for that in a life so regimented. No room for a hangover that might slow him down. He’d drunk more with Danny in the last few months than he had the three years prior, probably.

But that night, at Side Street, he began to see the appeal of obliteration.

Seemed like everyone was enjoying obliteration too, or maybe just enjoying seeing John McGarrett’s son off his face. Who could really tell? Steve didn’t care; he drank everything that was put in front of him, laughed at everyone’s stupid stories (might have told a couple of his own, too) and even reminisced about high school for a while, with two guys he absolutely did not remember from the days before he’d been expelled to the mainland. He pretended to remember them, and they pretended to believe he remembered them, and that worked out fine.

Chin got quieter as the night rolled on. It had taken Steve a while to realize he was counting his drinks, staying sober so he could drive Steve home. He tried to tell Chin he could call for a taxi later, but Chin made some excuse about having things to do in the morning, related somehow to the legendary Kelly-Kalakaua Christmas.

It sounded thin, but Steve by then was too drunk to call him on it. And he was too drunk to object for long when Chin Ho said it was time to leave. He high-fived everyone repeatedly, trying and failing to commit their names to memory one last time, and let Chin wheel him out to the car.

He could have gotten himself into the driver’s seat on his own, if he’d been the slightest bit more sober. But he wasn’t, and when Chin slung an arm around his shoulders to help, Steve…

Well. Apparently, Steve lost his mind for about thirty seconds.

He shouldn’t have had the strength to even try, but he had a hand balled in Chin’s shirt and was trying to drag him down, kissing him wetly (remembering this later, he would learn, was utterly mortifying) and not stopping until Chin had firmly pushed him into the seat and shut the door.

Steve sat staring out of the windscreen in horror and humiliation, listening to Chin put the wheelchair into the trunk, and didn’t say a word when Chin climbed into the driver’s seat and told Steve firmly, though not unkindly, to put his seat belt on.

Chin somehow didn’t need to be told that Steve wasn’t ready to go back to his father’s house, and instead, he pulled up at a bluff with a beautiful view of the water, and the night’s bright moon.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said. He was still drunk, but somehow, he felt horrifyingly sober, now. Unable to speak without slurring, but sober nonetheless. “I didn’t…”

“Just to be clear,” Chin said, “I’m straight, and I have a girlfriend. But I’m not mad, and I’m not going to run and tell John. _Any_ of this. But I get the feeling you might need to talk, Steve, so. I’m all ears.”

He reached into the back seat for a large water flask, and Steve accepted it gratefully.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” Steve said. “It’s just been a tough year, you know.”

“So do you want to tell me about him?”

Steve shook his head. “Danny. No. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Even if I don’t get accepted back into BUD/s, I’m still in the Navy. And I can’t be with him and be in the Navy. I can’t lie like that. Anyway, it’s not about him.”

Chin stayed silent.

“It’s a little bit about him. It’s mostly not about him. It’s about everything, the fact that no one thinks I can really do this, and people keep asking me about my backup plan — I’ve never had a backup plan in my life, Chin, it’s just not how I operate. I decide what I want and then I go for it, and I don’t stop until I have whatever it is that I want.”

Chin still didn’t speak, but he turned until Steve could feel that heavy gaze on him.

“And then I find myself thinking… so what? If I don’t get back into BUD/s. If the Navy gives me a medical discharge. It’s not as if that’s all I’m capable of doing, you know. I speak four languages, I’m smart and eventually I’ll be athletic again, and…”

“And why would you want to dedicate your life to something that couldn’t accept you the way you are?”

Steve stared out over the water, the moonlight rippling on the soft waves, and he nodded. “Yeah, there’s that. It’s not something I’d ever really thought about. I just ignored this part of me. And now… since I met Danny…”

For someone who didn’t think there was anything to talk about, he sure was doing a lot of talking.

“I thought I could talk to dad about it, but… we can’t talk for five minutes without picking a fight. Or worse,” he amended, dragging his hand over his face, thinking of all the things he’d wanted to say in the hours since he’d arrived. Hours. Not even a whole day. This had been such a mistake. “Not about Danny. But about the Navy. But I can’t talk to someone who’s acting like I don’t have a choice. And it’s more than that. We don’t know each other anymore. Sometimes I wonder if we ever did.”

Chin nodded wisely, and took the water bottle to swallow a mouthful before handing it back.

“Tell me about Danny,” he said.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know what it is, man. I’ve never known anyone like him. He wants to be a cop. He’s part of this huge family that just love each other, and… well, I guess you’d know what that’s like, but I don’t. He volunteers with teenage boys and gay students and he writes this poetry I can’t understand but I love… I don’t know. But I’ve fucked him around so bad, Chin, and we both know I’m gonna leave in the summer and I don’t know if I can stand to do anything that’s gonna make that harder.”

“Wow.”

“You know, I’m not… not even sure I’ve ever really liked girls. Not now that I know what it’s like to really want someone. _Need_ someone.”

“There’s nothing to say you have to have that all worked out, Steve. Now or ever.”

“But he does. He knows himself so well. And he’s so strong about it.”

Steve closed his eyes.

“I’m gonna be in such a world of regret in the morning,” he mumbled, wondering whether he was likely to throw up in Chin’s car and sincerely hoping he wouldn’t. Tonight had been embarrassing enough as it was.

“Come on. I’ll get you home,” Chin said, starting the engine again. “If you think you’re gonna puke, I beg you, give me at least ten seconds’ warning so I can pull over. Deal?”

 

 

The following morning, Steve woke up fully dressed on the couch underneath a scratchy blanket. He didn’t really remember getting home, but given that his shoes were off, he assumed that Chin had helped.

Oh, god. Chin. He had kissed Chin Ho Kelly, or at least, he’d tried. His cheeks burned with humiliation and he covered his face with his hands, until the smell of coffee stirred him again. He forced himself to sit up, and his father entered the living room carrying two mugs of coffee and with a gentle smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, dad,” Steve said, lifting his legs one at a time so he could sit up properly, flinching as his knees bent awkwardly. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t usually drink much.”

“I didn’t do anything to put you in a mood to behave, yesterday,” John replied, shrugging, and he handed over the mug. “I’m sorry, son. I was never much of a father, and now I’m out of practice. I haven’t been there for you. I should have been. With everything you’ve been through…”

He waved absently at the chair, but didn’t look at it.

“I need to tell you a few things, Steve,” he said, sitting on the coffee table. “And since you’re going to be angry with me once you’ve heard it, I need to say this, first; I love you. And your sister. And everything I did, back in ’92, I did to keep the two of you safe. I didn’t think I had a choice. I stand by that.”

Steve nodded. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before.

“There are things it’s not safe for me to talk about, son. Reasons why I don’t believe you’re safe in Honolulu. One day, I hope you can come home. I hope this can be your home again. And I promise I will try to be a better father to you. But right now, I need you to leave.”

“Dad… what? You know I’m in the Navy, right? Chair or no chair, I can take care of myself. If the island isn’t safe, then you need me as much as I’ve ever needed you. Let me help.”

“Your sister and Deb are having Christmas in Las Vegas with friends of your aunt’s. I think you should go and join them.”

“And I think you should tell me what’s going on, and let me help you.”

“No, son.”

“You think I can’t help?”

“I think I don’t want you to.”

John’s face was cold. Steve tried to read him; was this just his father protecting him, or was there more to it?

“You don’t want me to.”

“No.”

Steve slumped back against the couch. His father handed over a credit card and a cordless phone from the kitchen.

“Call the airline,” he said. “And book yourself a ticket. I’ll make us some breakfast. You smell like you could use some grease.”

 

 

Steve was back on a plane the following morning, Christmas Eve, at ten in the morning. Not what he’d expected of his day. His stomach hurt, and not just because he’d been eating rubbish for days and was still battling an extended hangover. The Christmas card with a few crumpled bills in the bottom of his duffel bag was definitely a part of it, but not the main part, either. In just a couple of days, the shaky foundations, the truths Steve thought he understood, they were all shattering.

His father didn’t want him to be a part of whatever it was that had shaken their family so badly that he’d sent his children away, one to be raised by an aunt, and the other by a boarding school. Steve stared out the window of the plane. It had been a long time since he’d seen Mary.

He hoped she was having a good day.

Steve closed his eyes and tried to sleep for a few hours.

 

 

Eight o’clock that night, after being helped out of a taxi by a cheerful West African guy about four inches taller than he was, Steve rolled down a familiar footpath, on the chilly air, wishing he hadn’t left his jacket in the dorm. The house was decorated with brightly colored lights, and a set of slightly tired-looking reindeer waited patiently on the rooftop. The windows were painted with spray snow, and so were some of the trees, showing up the bright baubles tucked here and there among the branches.

There was no ramp over the steps, which posed a problem. Steve locked the wheels of his chair, and clambered clumsily to his feet, lurching from step to step, leaning heavily against the wall for support. He ignored the mild ache in his legs (these days, the fear that his muscles might betray him and let him topple over was the greater concern) and knocked on the door.

It was Danny who answered.

“Steve,” he said, reaching out to support his weight. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 


	7. Chapter 7

The next few moments were chaos of the best sort, with Danny and Matt helping Steve to the couch, though with the support it wasn’t too difficult to walk into that dazzlingly decorated and very festive house, adorned with tinsel and lights and the biggest tree Steve had ever seen outside a shopping mall. Danny noticed, the walking, and looked pleased. Though he was even more pleased by Steve’s wide-eyed reaction to the decorations. Clara fussed over him, Bridget forced a Santa hat that was a little too small onto his head and Stella, assuming correctly that Steve hadn’t eaten anything decent in a while, pushed a plate of food into his lap.

Steve stared at it, blinking. “I was just gonna ask if the invitation was still good,” he said.

“What are you talking about, are you kidding me,” Danny said, flapping a hand at him. “Sit down and eat your dinner, Steven.”

“I’m already sitting down,” Steve snarked back, but there was no energy in it, beyond the general delight at being in reaching distance again.

“Well, while you’re talking, you’re not eating. And the ham is perfect. Plus the potatoes are better with a little crunch to the skins.”

“You know what goes well with ham?” Steve asked innocently.

“You shut up. You’re in my house, and my rules apply,” Danny said, puckishly, only to be shouted down by Eddie and Clara.

The rest of the family collected their half-empty plates from the dining room table and sprawled around the living room, onto couches and the floor and the coffee table, rather than make Steve walk that bit further. He didn’t even notice Eddie collect the chair and his duffel from the bottom of the steps outside and deposit them close to the couch. He was a quiet man who did what was needed.

Steve felt a lump form in his throat, and he dared a look at Danny’s face, wondering what he’d see there. Danny only nodded, as if there would be time to talk later.

As it transpired, it wasn’t that much later. On Christmas Eve, there was a tradition of walking to a nearby friend’s home for drinks, along with half the street. This year, unspoken, Danny was excused. Steve helped him to collect the plates and carry them to the kitchen, and was about to suggest that if Danny wanted to wash them he would be happy to dry, but Danny (proving once and for all that short people were not to be trusted) seized his chair by the handles and steered him back to the living room.

“Talk,” he said, as he sat on the coffee table opposite Steve.

Steve had, in fact, put a significant amount of energy into practicing what he might say when he arrived, but now, he was tongue tied, just looking at Danny’s beautiful face, his blue eyes. He reached out, and took Danny’s hand, and Danny squeezed gently.

“Babe. Use your words.”

“That was the plan, but I’ve forgotten them.”

“Let me make it simple. Why are you in New Jersey, and not Hawaii? That’s a start. Because I seem to remember something about a red-eye to Honolulu, unless you were just trying to get out of another awkward conversation about spending the night with me, which, I know, that wasn’t part of the plan. It just happened, and I’ll have you remember we were both perfect gentlemen…”

“Dad didn’t want me there.”

“Oh. Oh, babe.” Danny gave another squeeze, and then got to his feet, gesturing at nothing as he headed for the kitchen. “You need eggnog. You need my mother’s eggnog. The woman can’t cook, but she mixes a good cocktail, and she’s got a heart bigger than Texas. I’m sorry. Want me to call and yell at him?”

Steve heard the fridge door open, the rattling of jugs, glasses on the countertop.

“No,” Steve said, as Danny handed him a glass, moments later. “No yelling. I’ll give it another eight years, see how we go from there.” He tried not to sound bitter, but he was a little bitter.

“Okay. It’s up to you, it’s okay. The offer’s there. I’d get Bridget to help. Stella’s not very good at it, for a Williams, which is why Eric is turning out to be such a little shit. So. Your dad didn’t want you there.”

“My dad didn’t want me there. And I’m quitting the Navy,” Steve blurted.

“Oh.”

Steve blinked. “Is that all? Oh?”

“Well, I assume there’s more to it than a sudden desire to investigate your options. I’m suspending judgment until I hear the rest.”

Steve nodded. He hadn’t looked away from Danny’s face since he’d accepted the eggnog, but now he forced himself to, tasting the drink. It was strong. Bless Clara, really.

Steve’s mouth was dry, and so was his throat, and if he hadn’t been sitting down he suspected there was a very real chance he might have passed out. But he was sitting, and clutching his glass in two hands, and Danny’s eyes were slightly red-rimmed like he’d been having trouble sleeping (seemed to be the status quo) and was busy being the golden son, which, of course he was, he was so brightly shining that Steve’s own vision swam.

“I’m in love with you,” he said, and that hadn’t been in the script. But it was true, and it was one of the few things that mattered, in this entire mess. “I’m in love with you, and I won’t be in the Navy if I have to pretend I’m not. And I know how much I fucked up, Danny. I was never using you to figure anything out. I was just…”

Danny reached out, and touched Steve’s leg, and Steve looked up and met his gaze.

“You were scared. It happens.”

“I wanna be brave, Danny. I think it’s more my speed.”

Danny’s expression softened. “I think you’re very brave. I’m proud of you.”

“I just wish I’d been brave sooner. What I’m trying to say is… I get it, or I would get it, if you didn’t want anything to do with me. Or if you just want to be friends. I can take that. But I want more. I want everything. And I don’t know what I’ll do next. I don’t even have the energy to figure it out. I just know I want it to be somewhere in your general vicinity.”

Danny nodded. “You know, a few months ago, I would have given anything to hear those words from you,” he said.

Steve’s heart sank. “Oh. Okay. I mean, like I said. I know how much I messed up.”

“Steven. I am fucking with you. Come here, goofball,” he said, but he was the one moving closer, reaching for the back of Steve’s neck with one hand, angling his mouth to capture Steve’s and kiss him thoroughly and well. Steve scrambled to put the eggnog down safely, and cupped Danny’s jaw with one hand, holding him steady. His skin was on fire, his body was on fire, and he regretted bitterly the impossibility of getting up the stairs to Danny’s bedroom, or back to the dorm, or anywhere they might be able to spend a good long while getting to know each other’s skin without the risk of anyone finding them that way.

Danny pulled back, which was horrible, but manageable, since his hand lingered on Steve’s neck a long moment.

“You had a tough week,” he said.

Steve felt something cold slither in his gut.

“Did you get some bad news? About… your legs, or…”

“No. I’m just as determined to ditch the chair as I’ve ever been. I just don’t want to go back to the Navy. Of course, that means I don’t have a fucking clue what I’ll do next, but…”

Danny nodded, and handed Steve his drink again.

“I told you a long time ago that I’m all kinds of messed up over you, Steve. I need to know you want to give it a real shot, or I can’t do this.”

“Danny,” Steve said. “I’m messed up over you, too. And I want to prove it to you. I just hope you’ll give me that chance.”

“Okay,” Danny said, leaning in again until their foreheads were touching. “Okay. Okay, babe. I can live with that. I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Steve said, taking his hand.

“Say all of this again, in a few days. When Christmas is done. Okay, when Christmas is done and you haven’t just hurtled your way across the sky from Hawaii to New Jersey with a head full of chaos. I need to know you’re not gonna change your mind in a few hours, or a few days.”

“I won’t, Danny —”

“Do me a favor, Steve, just listen to me. I need this. I need you to take a few more days and be sure, because you know I spend half my time thinking up worst case scenarios.”

“You don’t have to. Not this time.”

“You say that like I can just change who I am. And like you can change who you are. Just like that, flick a switch. I don’t think it’s that easy. So I’m telling you right now, Steve, if you mean this, if you want to give us a serious chance, I need you to wait, and tell me again in a few days. If that’s okay with you.”

Steve smiled, and gave Danny’s hand another squeeze, sitting up straight again and meeting Danny’s eyes.

“If that’s what you need, that’s what you get,” he said. But whatever Danny said, Steve _had_ flipped a switch. He’d chosen himself, and chosen Danny, over the Navy. He’d chosen to be true to himself instead of a principle he didn’t think he could ever believe in again, not now. A shadow he didn’t want to live beneath. “I’m all in, Danny. But I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing… and I’m gonna need you to show me,” he said.

He hoped Danny would understand he wasn’t just talking about the mechanics. The closest thing Steve had ever had to a relationship was a woman he’d dated in Maryland, on and off for about three months. Beyond that, the occasional one night stand. He didn’t know how to include someone in his life, let someone in, keep someone close, even ask for help when he needed it. How to navigate a morning with two people in the bed.

Not that he wasn’t interested in the mechanics as well. He only had to picture Danny’s body, the way he’d looked with his shirt off, to be sure he wanted very much to learn about the mechanics. He wanted to feel those strong hands on him, that sure touch. He wanted to know. And he was unreasonably sure he was never going to want anyone else’s hands on him again, once he’d figured it out.

“I guess that means I have to keep my hands off you for a few more days,” he said, wryly.

Danny nodded. “If it’s okay with you. Yeah, that’s what I need.”

“What about one more kiss?”

“I can manage that,” Danny said, leaning in. “But don’t get greedy, McGarrett. You’re on notice.”

“I like it better when you call me ‘babe’,” Steve said, as his lips barely brushed against Danny’s. He leaned that little bit further and deepened the kiss, his heart beginning to race as his body overtook his brain, objecting strenuously to the idea of waiting, for even minutes, let alone days.

It struck Steve that this would be the next big adventure. Learning who he was, learning Danny. Somehow, it sounded harder, and infinitely more rewarding, than anything he’d imagined before. He had a chance now to work out what he wanted to do with his life, now it didn’t need to be about finding the most difficult thing and mastering it. Who would he be? What would he choose, with an ocean of options in front of him? Steve didn’t even really know what he liked doing.

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you are thinking about, babe. I have this catalogue of your faces, you know. Variations on aneurism-face, mostly. Or no one will let me run a marathon-face. I know what they all mean. But I don’t know this one.”

Steve shook his head. “My whole life, I’ve never _not_ known what the future might hold, Danny. I don’t think there’s a name for this face. And by the way, I don’t make faces.”

“Whatever you say, babe. Excited or scared?”

“Don’t ask me that like they’re mutually exclusive. I’m flying blind, here.”

“Ah, well, Steven, I’ll tell you a secret. Everyone is always flying blind, all the time.”

Danny looked pretty confident, for a guy who believed the world was a cesspit. He closed a hand over one of Steve’s, and gave another squeeze.

“You want some help onto the couch?”

Steve glanced at his watch. “It’s a bit early to sleep.”

“I know, but in a minute I’m gonna put a cheesy Christmas movie on, and we’re going to do some equally cheesy, non-sexual snuggling with hands strictly above the belt, if that’s okay with you, and that will be a lot more comfortable on the couch than if I join you on that chair.”

And it was nice. None of the panic that could accompany that kind of contact. Danny was so tactile, and it made Steve want to be, as well, leaning against Danny’s chest with their fingers tangled, watching bad animatronic reindeer gallop awkwardly in the snow across the TV screen.

A chime sounded, somewhere, and Danny stirred.

“Midnight. Merry Christmas, babe,” he said, and Steve thought he might get away with one last kiss before he did his best to behave for a few days.

Danny did not disappoint.

 

 

When Steve woke in the morning, he found that someone had thrown a blanket over them. He was stretched out with his arms around Danny’s waist and his head on Danny’s lap, and Danny was sitting with his head tossed back and a dry trickle of drool stretching from the corner of his mouth to his chin, snoring softly. Steve woke with a start, and then a groan as his legs complained, and then a flush of color to his cheeks when he realized the Williamses had found them that way the night before and left them be. He figured there was probably going to be some explaining to do, there, but it was probably good practice for the explaining he needed to do everywhere else in his life, so he didn’t mind it too much.

(Also… if Clara didn’t know something was happening, here, Steve would eat his dress blues. Steve was sure that when he’d arrived the night before, there had been no stocking on the mantelpiece with his name on it, which could only mean that she’d hoped he might come despite Danny saying he wouldn’t. She was a lot smarter than she seemed, even if she couldn’t cook.)

Steve felt Danny’s hand close over the fabric of his t-shirt and startle, stretching and yawning when he remembered why he was there. The glass doors to the back yard revealed frost that Steve momentarily mistook for snow, out of a brief burst of what might have been fantasy and might have been optimism.

Danny’s hand scratched through Steve’s hair, and Steve felt himself almost purr. Such aimless touching.

“You okay?” Danny asked, keeping his voice low, as if he was hoping for a few more private moments before the house exploded into noise. Steve was willing to bet that at least Bridget was awake, waiting politely (or at least quietly) for someone to make enough noise to grant her permission to ricochet down the stairs.

“Perfect.”

“You sappy goof. I was talking about your legs. Can’t have been a comfortable way to sleep.”

“I’ve never slept so comfortably in my life, Danny,” Steve said, letting his eyes drift closed again. “I’m working on a scheme to make sure I never sleep alone again.”

“Too soon to be talking like that, babe.” Danny stretched again, and returned his hand to Steve’s head, playing with his hair absently. Steve only grinned; he wasn’t going to be deterred. Danny had worn his heart on his sleeve from the moment they’d met, he realized now. It was Steve’s turn to take the risks. He had to earn back the ground he’d lost, but at least he knew Danny wanted to give it to him.

Upstairs, doors began to open and close, and the customary sounds of a chaotic Christmas morning began to filter through the house. Steve forced himself to sit up, noticing, strangely enough, that his legs really weren’t hurting too badly. Good. Maybe he’d made a miraculous recovery in the night.

He hadn’t, tragically.

He did sit up though, feeling suddenly cold where he’d been touching Danny. He dragged a hand over his face to wake himself up (it didn’t work) and wondered if it was rude to ask for a cup of coffee.

Danny said nothing, as he folded the blanket and shoved it into a closet, until Clara shouted down the stairs.

“Do I smell coffee?”

“No, ma,” he shouted back.

“Why don’t I smell coffee, Daniel?”

He grumbled amiably and headed into the kitchen to make a pot. Steve pushed himself up onto his feet to settle into the chair, but took a tumble, instead, landing on the ground with sudden stabbing pains in his legs and the surprise of someone used to being a hell of a lot more graceful.

“What are you doing?” Danny said, jogging across the room to help.

“I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I feel like I should be making progress faster.” He let Danny help him back onto the couch, and fetch the chair, and then help him into it. It was embarrassing, but not like it would have been even a couple of days ago.

“Come on, superSEAL, these things take time. _I_ can barely stand up before a cup of coffee, I don’t know why you think you could. There’s a shower in the downstairs bathroom. I think there’s a plastic chair in the garage, let me find it. I’ll be back.” He put Steve’s duffel on the coffee table so he could pick out some clothes, before padding through the kitchen to the attached garage.

“Steve!” Clara said, as she appeared on the steps, sweeping down the last flight like the Spirit of Christmas Present. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. You look like you slept well.”

“I slept very well,” Steve said back with a grin.

“I’m so glad. You two looked so cozy we didn’t think we should wake you up.”

She was wearing a sparkly red top under a black cardigan, and had candy cane earrings dangling almost to her shoulders. Even her perfume smelled Christmassy. Cloves, Steve thought. She leaned down to kiss his cheek and give him a quick hug, and Steve hugged her back.

And then she pulled away, and touched his nose lightly.

“If you break my boy’s heart again, I’ll break your legs again, and this time, you’ll never have a hope of getting out of that chair.”

Steve grinned widely. He hadn’t expected to hear the shotgun and shovel talk from Danny’s mom, but she was formidable, for all she looked like a pushover.

“If I break his heart again, I’ll even bring you the sledgehammer so you can do it right, Mrs… Clara. I promise you, I love him. Very much. And your family. And I intend to be a part of it for as long as Danny will have me.”

So, there. That was it. Was it the first step to being ‘out’, whatever that meant? Acknowledging what was going in, here, to Danny’s mom, no less?

Danny reappeared, holding an old plastic picnic chair, and looking like he didn’t know whether or not he wanted to know what he’d interrupted, but it quickly became a moot point, as the rest of the Williamses began to pour into the living room. No Stella, yet, no Eric, and apparently that was why it was _absolutely not alright to start opening gifts, Bridget_.

But that was fine by Steve. Time for a shower, and coffee, and pancakes, which were apparently a family favorite; and for Steve to discreetly slip his own, decidedly crappy gifts under the tree. Sue him, he’d had to buy them all at the airport, and wasn’t exactly rolling in dough, though his father had written him a check he was looking forward to depositing. Guilt money spent just as surely as the other kind.

Eventually, everyone was there, and Steve parked himself by the end of the couch next to Danny, who was wearing the worst Christmas sweater Steve had ever seen, apparently with no shame. Apparently, this was a Christmas tradition. Clara looked like a million very festive dollars and everyone else had to wear terrible sweaters. Steve approved. Mostly because he didn’t have a terrible sweater. He watched the festivities, and enjoyed the yelling, the open affection and the frequent hugging, while stuffing his face with the snacks that had hit the living room seconds after Stella and Eric arrived.

“Oh, here’s one for you, Steve,” Bridget said, with an expression on her face so innocent that she could only be looking for trouble. And yes, it was suspiciously bulky and soft-looking. Steve glared at her, which delighted her, apparently, and Danny snickered.

And yes, it was a terrible Christmas sweater, complete with Rudolph dropping a deuce in the snow.

“Oh, and it’s such a balmy day,” Steve said, pretending to complain. “Otherwise, I’d wear it, obviously. What a shame.” Being part of a family in-joke felt intoxicatingly good, especially with Danny poking him in the arm and grinning.

“I bought it a few days after Thanksgiving, just in case we saw you after all.” Clara was evil. That was where Danny got it from, Steve was sure.

“You wear the sweater or you go hungry,” Matt said. “And yes, it’s a genuine threat. 1995 was a very tough year for me.”

Steve shook his head sadly and pulled the sweater on, while Clara opened a gift from him.

“Traditional Hawaiian snacks. They’re called Mochi. Made from fruit and bean paste — most Hawaiian food has a lot of Asian influence. And the other one is candied pineapple. They were my mom’s favorite. And of course, chocolate covered macadamias, which are everybody’s favorite.”

“Thank you, Steve,” Clara said. “We’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii. So at least for now we can have a little taste of it.”

Bridget started shrieking about something she’d unwrapped, and the noise level rose for a few minutes. Steve turned to Danny, and kept his voice down low. “I, uh… I don’t have anything for you. I’m sorry.”

Danny reached up and cupped the back of Steve’s neck. His hand was warm, and his smile was bright, and he was the most gorgeous thing Steve had ever laid eyes on, despite the seizure-inducing dancing Santa sweater that flashed periodically.

“You’re here. That’s all I wanted for Christmas. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have anything for you, either.”

“Yeah, Danny,” Steve said. “You do.”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

On December 29, Danny got back to Rutgers, and he came straight to Steve’s dorm room. Steve was stretched out on the bed, reading a novel in Mandarin, since he’d been told it was a good way to pick up more natural rhythms of speech, and he was starting to understand why. Plus, it was pretty good, other than the unnecessary romantic subplot, essentially a police procedural. Buddy cops, they would have called the guys, in America. From time to time he puzzled over a word, but usually, context clues were enough to figure it out.

Mostly, he was bored, and missing Danny. There was an urgency there now; he’d meant what he said about not wanting to sleep alone, anymore, but he understood Danny’s need to spend a few days with his family, and he didn’t want to intrude on it all. Besides, he had PT, and it was easier to get there and back from the dorm than East Orange.

When Steve heard a knock on the door, he felt his heart race, and put the book aside.

“It’s open,” he said. Deliberately left unlocked in case Danny showed up was more accurate.

Danny slipped in the door and pushed it closed. “Hey,” he said, looking unsure, but smiling.

“Hey. I missed you,” Steve replied, and patted the bed next to him.

Danny shoved his hands in his pockets, and sat by Steve’s side, on the bed. Steve’s heart lurched. This wasn’t quite what he’d been anticipating.

“Did you have a good time?”

“My family is composed of about forty crazy people. They’re working very hard to make me crazy as well. But yeah, I had a good time,” he said, with a nod.

Steve reached out, and pulled Danny’s hand out of his pocket, grasping it in his own. “Whatever you need to say, Danny, say it. I meant what I said — if I screwed up too badly, if you don’t want this, it’s alright. As long as we’re friends.”

Danny squeezed back, but he stayed silent, and Steve wished for the hundredth time that he could go back in time and not ruin the night of the poetry slam. He started to pull his hand away, but Danny gripped it tight.

“Danny?”

“For days, I haven’t been able to think about much more than this. Well, that’s a lie. Weeks. Maybe months. It never really stopped. But I am who I am, Steve, and from the moment you told me… what you told me…”

“That I’m in love with you?”

“Yeah, that. From the moment you said it, all I’ve been able to think about is how this will end, and it’s tying my large intestine into fishing knots. Don’t interrupt, please, Steve, I have to say this. It will end, and maybe it’ll be because you change your mind and go back to the Navy — which, by the way, you are allowed to do, okay, you said what you said but you never signed a contract in blood. Or maybe it’ll end because you realize, hey, I miss boobs. Or because — and this is the big one — because you, my friend, who always takes things in both hands and runs with them, will take this and run with it, run with me, us, and then in a couple of years you’ll realize you should not have left the Navy after all, and you’ll resent me for it. I mean, there are other candidates, but those are the big three.”

“No,” Steve said, forcing himself to sit up a little straighter. “No, Danny. I have no idea what I’m gonna do now, but I know whatever I do, I wanna be with you when I do it.”

“You feel that way now.”

“I’ll feel the same way tomorrow, and next week, and as far off as I can imagine. I went back to Hawaii and I realized it doesn’t feel like home, anymore. Can’t, when you’re not there. I know this is sudden, but… it’s not. Or it is, but it started months ago, the first time I saw you at the rec center. Before I knew anything about you. I looked at you, and I knew I wanted to know you, I wanted to matter to you. I can’t explain it. And I know I screwed up, and I know you felt like I was using you. But I was never trying to figure out whether or not I was into dick. I was scared. Chickenshit. Because I may not know what kind of pride pin I should be wearing, anymore, and I may be adrift in a way I’ve never been in my life… but I know I’m into _you_.”

Danny still looked mournful. His eyes were brighter, though.

“I want this, Danny. I want it. I do. I want to go to bed with you, and wake up with you, and when I finally get out of this chair… and off the inevitable crutches, too, I wanna hold your hand when we walk down the street together. And between boxing and mixed martial arts, if anyone fucks with us, we’ll know how to handle them.”

Danny grinned at that.

“Please, Danny. Please don’t. If you don’t wanna be with me because you don’t wanna be with me, then okay. But if you’re holding off because you’re afraid it will end, then I’m asking you — you don’t know it’ll end any more than I know it won’t. Find out with me.”

Danny chuckled quietly. “You just monologued. I’m rubbing off on you, babe.”

“Speaking of rubbing off,” Steve said, feeling a smirk stretch over his lips, hoping he’d won.

“First things first,” Danny said. He climbed the rest of the way up onto the bed and over Steve’s body, bracketing his hips with his knees. Steve reached up and pulled at his shirt, and Danny leaned in, supporting himself on one arm.

He let his lips hover over Steve’s for a moment.

“Are you sure?”

“I promised your mom I wouldn’t break your heart again, Danny. Give it to me. I swear I’ll keep it safe.”

And apparently, that was enough. Danny leaned in, and if their previous kisses were anything to go by, he’d been holding back. This was searing. Steve felt drunk, and he put his arms around Danny and pulled him down against his body.

“Your legs.”

“They’re okay. They’re fine.”

Danny rested his weight against Steve’s body, over his hips, and Steve shivered as the kiss shifted to his jaw, to his throat, Danny’s stubble rubbing against his skin. He wanted more, he wanted everything. And this time, the wanting, it felt good, and clean, and pure, and Steve rolled his hips against Danny’s and thrilled to the way Danny murmured against his throat.

“I wanna touch you,” Steve said.

Danny climbed off him, which was horrible, for a moment, but they were in a ground floor dorm room with the curtains open on both windows, so he was glad at least one of them was thinking straight.

Well, not _straight_. But clearly. Steve pulled his t-shirt over his head as Danny did the same, and when he came back, they were pressed skin-to-skin and it felt incredible. Felt so right. Danny’s tiny waist and hips under Steve’s hands, and his broad shoulders above him; no, Steve really didn’t think he could ever miss boobs, not now. Not now he knew what this felt like.

“God…”

“Just Danny’s fine. ‘God’ is so formal.”

Steve snickered, but only until one of Danny’s thighs slotted between his own. He was already painfully hard, and glad he’d been lying around in sweats and not jeans. Danny had to be pretty uncomfortable in his own jeans, but there was a solution for that.

“I want…”

Danny closed his lips over one of Steve’s nipples and he gasped out loud.

“What do you want, babe?”

Steve almost barked a laugh. “I don’t even know. I want everything. I can’t stop thinking about you fucking me. I want it.”

“Yeah? I want it too, but I have to tell you, I think that’s gonna have to wait until your legs are doing a little better, babe. It’s okay. Something to look forward to. Me, I wanna get my mouth on your dick, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s very okay with me. Very,” Steve said, as Danny leaned in to kiss him again, rough and greedy, a hand moving lower to cup Steve’s cock through his sweats. Steve rolled up against the touch. “I wanna do it, too.” Fuck, he was probably going to be bad at it. He was probably going to be bad at everything until he got the hang of things, unfamiliar equipment and all.

“I love this body,” Danny said, sounding awestruck as he slipped Steve’s sweats down over his hips. “I’ve wanted to touch it since the first time we talked. You were there looking so stricken over half a cup of cold coffee and I was wondering what it would take to get into your pants.”

“Even with the chair?”

“That didn’t bother me. Why would it?”

Of course it wouldn’t. Not Danny. Steve’s cock sprang free, and Danny licked his lips in a way that was far too appealing. He leaned in to place an open-mouthed kiss on Steve’s thigh, warm and worshipful, making Steve shiver again.

When the sweats were all the way off, Steve felt suddenly exposed; not the nudity, that didn’t bother him at all, especially with the slow way Danny explored his skin, with his fingers and his mouth. No, it was the scars. They looked so stark. They had healed about as well as could be expected, but the ropy keloids ached when the weather changed, and they were not his most attractive feature.

Danny leaned down to kiss them, and Steve felt a lump rise in his throat.

“They’ll fade a little,” he said.

“Scars are good. Scars mean you survived. Don’t apologize for them. You’re gorgeous. Jesus, I could frame you and hang you on the wall.” He kneeled between Steve’s legs, and the way he looked at him did make Steve feel like a buffet. He closed his hand around Steve’s cock, and Steve felt his heart rate soar into overdrive again.

“Nice,” Danny said. “We really need to get these legs of yours sorted out, babe. You’re not the only one who wants to get fucked.”

“Yeah?” Steve grinned wolfishly at that.

“Yeah. So. You do exactly what they tell you to do, because I’m gonna want you on your knees behind me, and I need to know they’ll hold your weight for a while.”

“Danny you’re really gonna have to stop talking, or I’m gonna come before you get your mouth on me.”

“Can’t have that,” Danny said, and leaned in, swirling his tongue around the head, before taking Steve a little deeper. Steve grabbed handfuls of the blanket and groaned. It took all he had in him not to fuck Danny’s face, but he thought that might be a little rude. He settled for fisting his hand in Danny’s hair and letting his hips roll a little. Danny got a little more enthusiastic, and Steve watched those lips move over him, bobbing slowly, and then faster, and then slowly again as he got close. One of Danny’s hands moved from his thigh to his balls, rolling them slowly in his hand, and it occurred to Steve that he should really be paying attention, since Danny clearly knew what he was doing and Steve did not. If he at least had some idea of what he liked, he was pretty sure he could do a passable job.

But his brain refused to focus, just purely blissing out on the incredible sensation of Danny’s hot, tight mouth. He could feel a zinging in his spine, heat pooling at the base, and knew he was close. He tapped Danny’s shoulders warn him, but Danny tangled his fingers in Steve’s and kept right on doing what he was doing, which was, apparently, sucking Steve’s brain out via his cock.

“Danny… please, I’m gonna…”

But Danny gave him a mischievous look, and that was enough; Steve came hard, and Danny swallowed, milking him with his tongue and then sitting back finally, a trickle of come running over his chin until he reached up to wipe it away.

Steve had never been with someone who’d swallowed before. The thought of it was doing crazy things to his insides. He reached out, and Danny climbed over him, hesitating for a moment before Steve pulled him down for another kiss.

He could taste himself in Danny’s mouth, and it was enough to make his cock twitch again.

“That was amazing,” Steve murmured, with his mouth still touching Danny’s.

“Yeah, it was,” Danny said.

“You need to get out of those jeans, Danny, before you tear through them.” He pressed his palm against Danny’s erection, and he flinched; yeah, it couldn’t have been comfortable. Danny climbed off the bed again and wriggled out of his jeans, and Steve licked his own lips. Danny’s cock was thicker than his own, if shorter, and the need to taste it was overwhelming.

“Oh, that feels better,” Danny said, giving himself a fond, almost unconscious tug before he climbed over Steve’s body again. Steve reached out, and closed his hand around Danny’s cock, heart racing as Danny groaned audibly. “And that feels way better. Fuck, Steve… a little faster?”

It was strange; Steve was no stranger to masturbation, probably could have medalled in it, a skill very necessary to learn when sharing quarters with hundreds of the Navy’s finest and trying to maintain the appearance of a pussyhound. But this was strange, the angle all wrong, or at least different, and he threw his head back and laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“I feel like I’m trying to jerk it left-handed,” Steve said. “Fuck, Danny, just… come here, I want that in my mouth.”

“A little work and we’ll make a dirty talker out of you,” Danny said, as he shuffled up the bed. The joking did nothing to make him look any less turned on; his bright blue eyes were dark with arousal, until they snapped shut, just as Steve licked the tip of his cock experimentally. “Fuck. Yeah, babe.”

Steve opened his mouth, and Danny slipped inside. The musky smell of him, the silkiness of his skin, they were somehow surprising, though Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. He felt his eyes drift closed as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked Danny down, but opened them when Danny made a noise and angled his fingers in Steve’s hair. He hadn’t cut it in months, it was longer than it had been his entire life. Now he sort of liked it, at least, the way it gave Danny something to old onto.

Steve closed his hands over Danny’s ass encouragingly. Such a nice ass. Since the day they’d met, every time Danny had walked in front of him had been torture. Now he was allowed to touch, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop. He coaxed Danny just a little harder, stretching his jaw wide, and flattening his tongue against the underside, while Danny murmured and groaned above him. One of Steve’s hands ran down the back of Danny’s thighs, and back up again, fingers probing gently between the cheeks of his ass to brush experimentally over his hole.

Danny bucked, suddenly, and Steve felt his mouth fill with come, Danny’s cock jerking against his tongue, and his hand drifting to Steve’s cheek, affectionate and tired. He pulled away, and collapsed on the bed beside Steve, changing his mind abruptly and draping over Steve’s side with a satisfied smile.

“Was that… okay?” Steve asked, but he was smiling, and pretty sure he knew the answer.

“Not bad, babe. Two-three times a day for the next few months and we’ll see how you’re doing.”

Steve punched him lightly on the arm, and Danny flapped a hand at him. “It was good. It was very nice. It was better than nice. I’m a noodle. And I’m cold, let’s get under the blankets. It’s December in Jersey, my friend, not Hawaii.”

Under the blankets they touched and kissed aimlessly, dozed from time to time, repeatedly mentioned the need to get food without ever making plans to do so, and kissed some more.

“You never said what happened.” Danny’s eye were closed, but he wasn’t fooling Steve. It mattered, and he wanted to hear.

“To what?”

“You always say it was an accident. You’re never specific. You say it was an accident, when you were training.”

“It was an accident.”

“You don’t have to tell me. But I would like to know. So if you’re ever up to it. That’s all I’m saying.”

Steve hooked his arm around Danny’s shoulders and pulled him in closer. “I got pinned to a wall by the bumper of a small jeep. No one knows why the brakes failed. I was stuck for a little while before they could get me out. The surgeries reconstructed my knees and the upper part of my tibia and fibula.”

Steve didn’t like to think about it. The accident had been one thing, but the pity in the eyes of his team mates, the assumption he couldn’t come back, that had been so much worse. Freddie’s devastated look. Best friends, they had been, by then, and yet Steve had never tried to call Freddie and Freddie had never tried to call him.

“Fuck,” Danny breathed.

“But I can stand up, now, for a moment or two, if I’ve got something to hold onto. And I’ve been walking between the parallel bars at the rec center, and… I’m gonna get it back, Danny, I am. It’s just taking longer than I thought.”

He could almost hear Danny’s mind whirring, wanting to tell Steve that if he didn’t, it would be okay. But he’d had enough of people assuming he couldn’t make it, and couldn’t be who he’d been, what he’d been. Danny never said it.

“Have you got PT today?”

For the first time in months, Steve didn’t want to go. “Yeah,” he said, glancing at the clock on his nightstand. “In a couple of hours.”

“Maybe I could come. I’d like to see you walk, if that’s okay with you. Maybe we could go get fed up by Uncle Vito afterwards. I feel like we’ve got something to celebrate, here.”

“We’ve got a lot to celebrate,” Steve agreed, and he pulled Danny in for another kiss.

 

 

There were things that happened, after that, and things that didn’t. Danny saw Steve walk, and agreed it was progress; Tulip decided she liked Danny, and they spent a riotous half-hour talking about boxing, and then agreeing to a fight sometime. They went to the New Year’s Eve party at Louisa’s friends’ house, and watched the fireworks go off on a new millennium. The world didn’t end, which was a nice surprise. But if it had, at least Steve would have had some skills to fall back on.

At night, almost every night, Danny crawled into Steve’s bed, and they slowly learned each other’s bodies. It was easy, like falling. Some nights, they just slept, with Steve plastered to Danny’s back, or vice versa.

The new semester started, and things got busy again. But it was easier.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“That doesn’t look like forty percent, Steve,” Tulip said, with her arms crossed.

“You know there’s no way for me to actually estimate that, right? Forty percent, sixty percent — I’m not putting all my weight on it, isn’t that enough? And it feels fine, there’s nothing wrong with this. You see these arms? You think they’re slacking?”

Lots of bluster. It helped. She didn’t need to know any more than Danny did how much of Steve’s time he was spending on his feet in his room at night, stretching, doing knee bends, light squats, trying to cheat the system.

“Oh, I see those arms, Steve. I think everyone sees those arms. You could consider a side gig as the spokesperson for a nutritional supplements company. What? Women are objectified all the time, we’re supposed to enjoy it.”

Steve dropped the annoyed face and laughed, as he reached the end of the parallel bars and carefully turned around.

“When do I get crutches?” he asked. “I know I couldn’t get across campus right now, but I could waddle around my dorm room, maybe down to the cafeteria.”

“You get crutches as soon as I trust you not to overdo it, which right now is never. You know that a solid recovery is more important than a speedy one, right? Where are you in such a hurry to go to?”

He stopped, and shook his head.

“Nowhere. I’m not going back to the Navy. I just want to be out of the chair.”

“You’re not?” Tulip put her hands on her hips. “Why?”

“I thought you’d be glad to hear it.”

“Oh, I am. That doesn’t make me any less curious.”

“Fell in love,” Steve said, taking another step, shifting his hand again. His legs were beginning to ache, but it wasn’t unbearable. Just the familiar, almost forgotten burn of hard work.

“Oh, I see,” Tulip said. “The guy you brought with you just after Christmas? You seemed close. I can see how that would throw a spanner in the works.”

Steve didn’t bother to glance at Damien, to see what sort of a reaction he was having to this news. He doubted the guy was especially open-minded, and he really didn’t care.

“You’ve worked for this for a long time, though, Steve.”

“I worked like hell to be the best I could be, and serve my country. The Navy doesn’t want me as I am. Someone else will.” He took the last few steps at a reasonable pace, pouring sweat, and let Damien ease him into the chair.

“Hit the shower and then the pool, Steve,” Damien said. “Your legs have been shaking for the last five minutes. Go on.”

Steve caught his breath, and offered a salute, and wheeled himself away to rinse off in the shower. If they thought they had actually encouraged him to slow down, they had another think coming. Steve eased himself into the pool and immediately launched into a punishing freestyle stroke. The burn in his legs was no longer something to tolerate; he was embracing it, enjoying it. So much that when he was tapped on the shoulder an hour later, he couldn’t believe how much time had passed. He allowed Tulip and Damien to help him into the chair, and headed for the bathroom, before looking for Danny.

 

 

“You look like you ate a bunch of really great drugs, babe,” Danny said, patting his shoulder as he watched the kids run around the gym.

“Endorphins, man. And you look…” Steve scrunched his face. “ _Gorgeous_. Always. _But_.”

Danny rubbed his face. “I’ve been trying to tell myself all day that I’m not getting sick. Because I really don’t have time to get sick. But Louisa, Louisa is definitely sick, Louisa is moments from a biohazard team showing up to quarantine her dorm, and my roommate, whom I fortunately barely see anymore — he is also sick. He is in fact sick enough so that he left me a note saying he’s gone home to his mother’s place in Scranton for a few days.”

Steve reached his hand out. Danny was pale, his eyes were rimmed in red, and his lips and nose were more than a little rosy as well, but he took a step back and shook his head.

“I think we should probably avoid you getting sick, too, babe.”

“I never get sick. But you are. So, go, okay. Get out of here. I can watch the kids for the night and you can get some sleep. I’ll bring you some soup or something later.”

Danny sagged against the wall, and closed his eyes.

“If you wreck my boys by teaching them kung fu, so help me, I will get better and then kick your ass.”

“I’m genuinely scared right now, what with how tough you look. Get out of here, Danny. Get some rest.”

“You should be scared. They’re boxers, Steven, they came to me to become boxers, and it is my responsibility to ensure they don’t turn into kick boxers instead. I love you. See you.” And he gave Steve’s shoulder a squeeze, before heading to the locker room. Steve watched him go, the occasional cough racking his broad shoulders, his whole body slightly hunched.

“Alright, boys,” Steve said, swiveling his chair as they came in from their run. “Grab some gloves and pair off. I need to see what your form is like.”

Curious eyes moved over his chair, but then his arms, and apparently he passed muster, because they did as they were told, and soon enough Steve was moving from pair to pair — _don’t straighten your arm all the way, you’ll lock it and jar it. Keep that hand up to protect your face. Danny’s sick, he’ll be okay, it’s all okay. Just a bad cold._

 _It’s all okay._ Better than okay.

 

 

Wednesday, Steve brought Danny soup, again, chicken noodle from Uncle Vito’s place, with thick crusty bread, only to find Danny trying to layer up a half-dozen sweatshirts, apparently with the intention of leaving.

“Don’t think I won’t kick your ass,” Steve said, irritated. “I get it, tough Jersey boy, you don’t need to slow down. But right now you look like you can’t walk, and that’s coming from me.”

“I have to,” Danny said, reaching for one of his boots. He fumbled the laces, but Steve didn’t offer to help.

“You have to do what, on a Wednesday night? You don’t have classes. You don’t have anything. You need to sleep and get better, or I’ll go back to the rec center on Thursday night and I will teach those kids krav maga, just to piss you off.”

Danny dropped the boot and glared at Steve.

“Everyone is sick,” he said.

“Everyone but me. Which means I’m the authority on not being sick, and you should listen to me.”

“Listen to me, Steven. For the last two and a half years, every night, on Wednesday night, there’s been someone on the phone at the queer students’ center, ready to talk to anyone who needs it. We’ve all talked people off ledges, we’ve all kept people in school, what we do there matters, Steven. And I need to be there because no one else can be.”

Steve clasped his hands in his lap and thought about it. On cue, Danny started coughing. Steve rolled towards him.

“I’ll go,” he said. “I’ll tell anyone who calls that they can call next week, that you’re all really sick. I can’t do anything else, I wouldn’t know the first thing about it. But at least the phone will get answered. Okay? I’m asking you to stay here and get better. You know why?”

“Because you’re a control freak.”

“Because I love you, Danny,” he said, quietly. “Just let me help.”

Danny held his gaze for a few moments and then relented, swinging his legs back up onto the bed and grabbing at his blanket. “Okay. Thank you.”

Steve nodded. “Get better, okay? My bed’s cold without you. I could come back here later,” he hedged, but Danny shook his head.

“Your claims about a freaky immune system sound thinner than you know, babe. Alright. Go.” He handed Steve the keys to the center. “Is that Uncle Vito’s soup?”

“It is. He says get better, buddy.” Steve rolled another couple of feet, wrapped his hand around the back of Danny’s neck and kissed his forehead. He felt hot, and clammy. Steve didn’t want to leave, but he knew well that if he didn’t, Danny would.

 

 

Steve felt more nervous than he should have, unlocking the door to the center. And awkward as hell, because the door was heavy, and the wheelchair got in the way. Eventually, he wrangled his way in and turned the latch, locking himself in. Since no one else could come in, tonight, he didn’t think he should let people come in and sit. There was already a sign on the door saying that the place was closed until everyone who worked there got over their collective, shared plague, so it didn’t seem like it would be a problem.

Steve let himself into the office in the back and wheeled himself carefully (there was so much junk in there, they really needed someone to clear it out) to the desk, pushed the office chair out of the way, and pulled his Arabic textbook out of his backpack, along with a pen and his composition book. Vocabulary. He’d worked his way through half a chapter when the phone rang, and he got a chill.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m really sorry, but everyone’s sick, this week. I volunteered to answer the phone and let people know. You doing okay?”

“I’ll be alright,” said a thin female voice, and she ended the call.

Well, that had been easy. Steve returned to his homework, and the phone rang again. He’d politely put off three more callers, offering to have someone call two of them back, when he decided this was going to be easier than he thought.

Around eight, the phone rang again, and Steve started with the same spiel.

“I’m not okay,” said the voice. “Will you talk to me? Please? Just for a few minutes.”

Steve put his pen down, and leaned back in his chair.

“You know, I don’t have any of the training the others have, buddy. I don’t know how much help I can be.”

“Are you gay?”

Steve gave a small smile. “Jury’s still out on that. I have a boyfriend, though.”

“That must be nice.”

Very nice, Steve thought to himself.

“I came out to my parents over Christmas, and my dad told me… he told me I’d better do something about it, or it wouldn’t be home anymore. I don’t know what to do.”

Okay, this was not a Steve-sized problem, this was a Danny-sized problem. A Louisa-sized problem. Steve gazed ahead of him, at a poster on the wall for Newark Pride 1998.

“I’m sorry about that, man. That’s not fair. It’s not right.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it happened. I’m screwed. My grades are slipping, I have to find a job… I don’t know what to do. Are you out to your family?”

Could he count the Williamses? Somehow, he doubted it. He hadn’t seen Mary since she was thirteen years old, and his father didn’t want him around at all. Steve had thought of the Navy as his family for so long, and now they were a million miles away, too, and he was about to officially cut ties, as soon as he knew what that would do to his financial situation here — tuition, PT, the lot of it.

What family?

“I don’t see too much of my family,” Steve said. “But my boyfriend, his family knows all about us. I think sometimes you find your own family, when the one you were born into doesn’t work out too well.”

There was a sigh on the end of the phone. “It’s not easy.”

“Nothing worth doing is easy,” Steve said. “I don’t think it’s meant to be. It’s supposed to _matter_. And then there’s the reward, you know.”

“Reward.”

“Yeah. Reward.” Steve reached for his thermos, and sipped his tea, which was almost cold. Still tasted pretty good. “Like you get to live your own way, find your own path. That’s one. Kind of excited about that myself, right now. Or being true to yourself even when it’s hard. A lot of people never do that. Or maybe you meet someone, fall in love. Maybe you find someone you wanna wake up with every day.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be that lucky.”

“Maybe you will, pal, and maybe you won’t, but you’ll be yourself, either way. It’s not easy, but it matters.”

“I’ve never really fit in,” the guy said, and after that, he just kept talking. About being athletic, but not into sports. About being good at math and science in the bible belt, where things like that were treated as a liberal conspiracy. Steve was pretty sure the guy was crying, as he talked about a crush on a guy in high school who had led him on for a few weeks and then hurt him badly, about just wanting to be wanted. Steve said nothing, just listened, wishing Danny was there to give the phone to.

“You know, you can come by here, too,” Steve said. “Whenever it’s open, anyway. You can check it out, you can talk to people here, you know, it doesn’t have to be a big thing. There’s free coffee. People just hang out on the couches, do homework or talk. I think you’d find you’re not as weird as you think you are.”

Probably not the right way to express it, but the guy laughed, sort of. Steve reached for his pen and started doodling on the corner of a fresh notebook page.

“Do you hang out there?”

“My boyfriend does. Me, I’m still trying to get the hang of all of this, you know. I don’t know who I am, these days. I just know he makes me happy, and that’s enough for me. But maybe I will. Like I said, I think some pretty cool people hang out here.”

“I’d better go,” the guy said. “I should go. Try to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, buddy. You do that. And maybe, if you can’t come in and talk to someone, you should call back next Wednesday. The real volunteers here know what they’re doing.”

“You did okay.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks, pal. Get some sleep.”

And he ended the call, suddenly relieved to be off the phone. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and the phone rang again.

“Hello,” he said, about to deliver his spiel again.

“Steve. Thank Christ. What happened? I’ve been trying to call for an hour.”

Steve glanced at the clock. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed. “There was this one guy. He really needed to talk. I don’t think I screwed it up too badly, Danny. He sounded better when he hung up.”

Danny was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, babe. I shouldn’t have put you into that position.”

“No. It’s okay.” Steve relaxed in the chair, elbows resting on the desk. “He asked me if I was gay.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I didn’t know. And I said I had a boyfriend. Is that alright?”

“That you don’t know? Or that you used the B word?”

“Both, maybe,” Steve said. “You feel like so much more than my boyfriend, Danny, but that feels like a good place to start.”

“It’s okay. I like it. Call me that every day.”

“Okay.” He grinned. “And what about the other thing?”

“You don’t have to define yourself, babe. Not for me, or for anyone. I love you, I want you in my life, I want you in my bed, the labels don’t matter to me. Me, I know who I am. Gender doesn’t factor into attraction for me, it never has. I like the label. I don’t even mind the colors. Women are great, I’m down with pink. And I want to stand up and be counted. But this is all new to you, and I want to be there for you while you figure it out, and if you never do, I’ll be there for that, too.”

How Steve had gotten this lucky, he was never going to know. He closed his eyes, and held the phone to his forehead for a moment, breathing in the low light.

“Babe?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“There’s no rush, Steve.”

“I know. I’d better go, Danny. Still another hour for the phones to ring. I promise I’ll just tell them to ring back.”

“I bet you did great, Steve. Sleep well when you get there. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Steve stared at the clock for another few minutes, and then opened his organizer to the contacts page. He stared at Joe’s phone number, and quickly calculated the time difference. Assuming he was in San Diego, it was probably about the time Joe would be settling back after dinner, pretending he didn’t wish he was in another country somewhere hunting down bad guys, pretending to enjoy being settled for a while.

Steve pulled a phone card out of his wallet, and painstakingly dialed the numbers, and his PIN code, and finally, dialed Joe’s number. He was half-hoping that Joe wouldn’t answer, that the answering machine would pipe up instead, but he did.

“Hello.”

“Hey, Joe,” Steve said, wondering if he sounded like a civilian. “It’s Steve McGarrett.”

“You think I don’t know your voice, son? How are you doing? How are the legs?”

“Getting stronger every day.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. And your studies? How are the languages?”

“Killing it, sir. I’m streets ahead of the classes. It’s a little frustrating, but the credits are important, too, of course, so I’ll take the win.”

“Good man, Steve. What can I help you with?”

Steve fell silent for a moment. “I thought I should talk to you before I spoke to anyone else. I’ve decided I won’t be returning to the Navy, Joe.”

“I see.” He seemed to consider his response carefully. “I take it the recovery isn’t going as well as you’d hoped.”

“No, sir, but that’s not why. The truth is I think I could get fit enough to come back, though maybe not to the SEALs, I don’t know. I guess I need some more time to prove that to myself. I’ve just decided that I don’t think it’s the right decision for me anymore. I’ve learned a lot about myself, being away from the Navy. I believe that some of it is irreconcilable with my previous career ambitions.”

“Is there something you think you should share with me, here, Steve?”

“Perhaps it’s better if you don’t ask, sir.”

The silence then was thick enough to hack through with a machete.

“Then for now, I think it’s better if you don’t tell me.”

So Joe understood.

“Steve, you’ve been working towards this since you were sixteen years old. It’s not a decision to make lightly.”

“No, sir, with all respect, I’ve been working since I was a lot younger than that, to serve my country. And there’s more than one way to do that. There are ways that I can do that while being true to myself. I don’t think anyone should have to hide.”

Steve’s heart was beating so hard that it hurt in his chest. This was the sort of confession that could go so very badly, and here he was relying on his mentor’s relationship with his father to keep him safe.

“Steve, I’m going to need to ask you to sit on this decision for a while, and let me make some discreet calls. I don’t know if leaving right now would affect your medical coverage, or your tuition, and to be honest, I’d like you to give it a little more thought. I have your number. Steve, you know this is not an easy road to go down.”

“The only easy day was yesterday, Joe.”

Joe was quiet for a moment. “That’s true. But think about this, Steve.”

“Alright. And Joe?”

“Yes, son?”

“I need you to know… I’m happy.”

Whether this would make any difference whatsoever to Joe, Steve didn’t know. But he couldn’t talk to his father about it, and his mother was long dead. Joe was the closest thing to a parent that he’d had in more years than he wanted to count. Joe had been there for him when John couldn’t be. Steve felt his eyes burn. Was it too much to hope that someone, some adult figure in his life could be happy for him?

“I’m glad to hear it, son. I’ll call you when I know something.” And he ended the call.

It hadn’t exactly been an exuberant embrace of Steve’s new life, but it had been something.

Forty minutes later, Steve locked the door behind him and wheeled through the slowly drifting snow, back to his dorm.

 

 

He slept poorly, his questions jangling his nerves. Whether he’d said the right things or made it worse for the guy who’d called. Whether he should be standing up to be counted as well. The questions haunted him in his Arabic tutorial, and his conversational Mandarin class (he was getting frustrated, there, miles ahead of the rest of the class in proficiency and needing native speakers to talk to if he was going to make any more real progress). They haunted him through an extremely frustrating PT session, and he refused to get out of the pool until Tulip threatened him with bodily harm.

“I want crutches,” he snarled, from the wheelchair, once they’d deposited him back in it. “I can’t just spend a couple of hours a day here and have that —”

“Alright,” she said. “Alright. I’ll set up the appointment. But what I say goes, Steve, I’m not kidding. Without supervision, you only get a few minutes at a time on your feet, or so help me, I will take them away from you again. And then I will send your photograph to every supplier in New Jersey, New York _and_ Pennsylvania so they won’t sell you any more. Maybe even Massachusetts. Are you understanding me?”

He gave her a goofy, wide grin. “Absolutely, sir,” he said, and Tulip rolled her eyes.

“Don’t _sir_ me. You have the credibility of a raccoon. Go, get out of my sight before I throw you back in the pool and drown you.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

“I love you very much, babe, but it stinks in here. _Again_ ,” Danny emphasized, as he dropped onto the bed alongside Steve. “Smells like you’ve been preparing for a marathon. Remember my whole spiel about you maybe not driving yourself into the ground with the working out? Are you actually allowed to do this much? And what is it exactly that you do? Please tell me you showered, at least,” he finished, but since he was already draped over Steve’s body, he apparently didn’t care all that much.

“They’re holding me back, Danny. I know what I can do. I know how far I can push myself.” He curled his arm around Danny’s shoulders and tossed his book aside. “I want to get out of the chair for good, and I can’t do it when they’re keeping me slowed down like this. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I understand that overdoing it is dangerous, and not just to the scent of your room, babe, which again, it’s ripe in here. I don’t know why I put up with it.”

“Because you love me,” Steve said fondly. “Did you come here to whine or did you come here to make out?”

“I came here to study,” Danny replied, but Steve’s tank slipped to the side a little and Danny found a nipple, and apparently, he couldn’t look without a little taste. Steve shivered. “It’s not my fault you look like this. I don’t know how anyone studies around you.”

“So you did come to make out.”

“No, I came to study. That was my plan and plans change. Now I want to make out.” He shifted lower, and eased the hem of Steve’s tank up enough to taste his stomach. “Alright, you smell pretty clean. Not too sweaty.”

“Wanna do something about that?”

Danny wasn’t difficult to tempt, but Steve pulled his shirt off anyway, because he loved the way Danny’s eyes darkened when he did that.

“You’re the worst.”

“Second-worst, maybe,” Steve said, working Danny’s t-shirt up over his body. Christ, but he was gorgeous to look at, all golden hair and neat muscle, and those obscene shoulders. “Been thinking about you all day.”

“What were you thinking, babe?”

“Nothing virtuous.” He reached for Danny’s ass and gave a squeeze. “Fuck, Danny, I want you. I want everything. All of it.”

Danny just smiled, and leaned in to kiss him. A tease, at first, but not for long, because that look of Danny’s which was half amorous and half horny as hell was already settling over his features, eyes struggling to stay open, hips grinding down against Steve’s cock, which was already hard in his sweats.

Steve didn’t miss soft curves; he didn’t think he could ever crave that again. He didn’t think that he could crave anyone again, though, to be fair, that anyone else could ever mean this much to him. That anyone else could stoke the fire inside him this way. Danny licked into his mouth, and Steve let out a pitiful groan, wrecked already, worse when Danny sucked his lower lip and moved down to his neck. It would really have been better if Danny had two mouths. Steve let his head roll back, and slipped his hands into Danny’s jeans, squeezing his ass again, his whole body feeling heated as they pressed together.

“You feel so good, Danny…”

“You’re right, I do. If only I could talk and give you a hickey at the same time, you’d know how good,” he added, returning to a spot just above Steve’s collarbone, which he seemed to like permanently marked. Steve didn’t mind it. No, he liked it. He _loved_ it, that little symbol of possessiveness. He’d always thought of himself as kind of dominant, in bed, but maybe it was just military bravado, the need to be the Alpha, with every stupid stereotype that involved. With Danny, he loved the surrender. And that could have been just because Danny knew what he was doing and Steve was only just beginning to get the hang of it, but he didn’t think so. He liked the proprietary way Danny touched him, not just in bed, but walking (or maybe rolling) around campus, touching Steve’s arm or shoulder. Especially if someone else looked at him.

A couple of times, Steve had thought about telling him that anyone looking at him was actually looking at the chair, but he doubted it would make a difference, and besides, he liked it.

“I wanna make you come, Steve,” Danny growled, finding his mouth again as he palmed over Steve’s dick, through his sweats. “I don’t know if I wanna use my hand or my mouth, because if I use my hand, I can keep kissing you like this, babe, and I love the way you kiss.”

And so free with his affection. Steve ached to learn to be that way. He felt his heart race.

“I want more, Danny.”

“So hand, then mouth, okay, I can do that. I hope to hell you jerked off in the shower, babe, because I feel like taking my time here.”

“Course I did, Danny, I told you I’ve been thinking about you all day. But I want more.”

Danny was kissing his way down Steve’s stomach, and he looked up, those bright blue eyes dark with want, his eyelids just a touch swollen, long, pale eyelashes sweeping up. He smiled, as he nipped at the sensitive skin just above the waistband of Steve’s sweats, and began to pull them down slowly.

“I bought condoms,” Steve said. “And more lube.”

“Yeah?” Danny started breathing harder. “So you’re telling me I can suck this thing for a while and then ride it? Because, babe, I don’t wanna rush you here but I am definitely up for that. I am most definitely up for that. Don’t bother pardoning the pun, it was intended.”

Steve sucked a hiss through his teeth as Danny pressed his tongue against the skin below his belly button, and breathed against it.

“I want you to fuck me. Please.”

Danny startled, and looked up. He had an appraising expression on his face, one Steve didn’t think he’d seen before. Like he was wondering if it was a joke, or there was some kind of ulterior motive, or maybe (and more likely) just trying to find the words to tell Steve that it was a really bad idea.

“That is definitely something I’ll be wanting to do in the future, babe, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think you’re ready.”

“Oh, you think I’m gonna have a big gay freakout the second I feel your cock in my ass, Danny? I’m not. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but I’m all in, and I want this. I want you.”

“No.” Danny shook his head. “Okay, no, I mean yes, okay, that’s definitely a factor, here, because it’s a step up, and…” Steve could tell from the look on Danny’s face that he was remembering something terrible that he didn’t want to remember, and Steve reached out to grip his shoulder.

“Hey. Who did this to you?”

Danny looked confused. “What?” Shortest Williams sentence ever, including the entire clan, and most likely the Morettis, too.

“This is… it’s like that night. When you said you’d been here before. That I was using you to figure out if I was into cock. Someone fucked you up about this, and I want a name.”

“Ugh, Steve, please, I’ve been boxing for years, if I need to break a nose I can do it myself. I’m not talking about that. And before you start some semantic argument, I’m not talking about _that_ , either. I can fight my own battles and that one is long past over. I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

“His name, Danny.”

“Your superSEAL voice doesn’t work on me, babe, you know that. And can we stay on topic?”

“I am on topic.” Steve was beyond annoyed, now, ready to wheel across campus and beat someone to death with a _shoelace_. He knew exactly how to do that.

“You, my friend, are a caveman, and can we please get back to the fucking? I would very, very much like to pop that particular cherry, and I intend to, but babe, your legs. I don’t want to sound like a broken record, here.” God, his hand gestures. They were the most distracting things. Steve imagined those fingers easing him open and his flagging erection was back in moments.

“Danny. This afternoon I did thirty push-ups, thirty sit-ups, and thirty crunches. I’m not where I was, but now that I can manage on crutches, I’m getting better faster. One day soon, I’m gonna set fire to the wheelchair and dance around the flames.”

“Maybe if you could _not_ do that, I know a charity that would take it…”

“I was being poetic!”

“You were being a caveman. Fire good! Fire _warm_ ,” Danny said, aping. “No bonfires, Steven, alright?” But he was grinning, and he was moving closer again, and his hips were straddling Steve’s — which was nice, but meant that he was moving the wrong way, although the kiss was nice… no, the kiss was much more than nice, it was deep, and affectionate, and still somehow completely dirty.

“You’re changing the subject,” Steve said, panting, when they came up briefly for air. Holy shit, he’d never slept with anyone who talked this much. Sometimes he didn’t know whether to kiss Danny or tape his mouth shut.

… no, he liked the talking. Still, he kept the irritated look, because it made Danny laugh, which was the best sound Steve had ever heard.

“I want this. Danny… fuck, I want this. I want you. You want me to beg? Because I think I could make that pretty hot… please, Danny, please,” he murmured, against Danny’s ear. “I want to feel it. I wanna feel you. I wanna spend all day tomorrow thinking about it. Thinking about you, pounding into me until the only word I can remember is your name…”

“I can’t decide if you watch too much porn or read too many Harlequin novels,” Danny growls. “Babe, I want this. You don’t have to beg, although, actually, now that I think about it, I am starting to think you should get in all the practice with dirty talking that you can, because I think it might be a thing for me…”

“What other things you got? I’ll make a list, Danny, we can work through it.” Steve smiled a smug smile. There was a blank page in the back of his organizer. He was going to sit down with a nice thick black pen tomorrow and write ‘DANNY’S LIST’ on the top line.

“That’s… that’s very nice of you, thank you, I’ll give that some thought sometime when all the blood usually residing in my brain hasn’t rushed to points south. My point — I have a point. My point is, Steven, this is your first time, I want it to be special, I don’t want you to have to stop because your legs are hurting. I mean, if you wanted to stop for other reasons that would be alright, always, babe, you know consent is key —”

“Your feminist principles are hot, I ever tell you that?”

“Thank you, they’re very important to me. But of all the reasons you might need to stop, I don’t want leg pain to be a thing.”

He lowered himself onto Steve’s body, ear against his heart, and relaxed. That had been a mouthful and a half even for Danny, and frustrated or not, Steve loved that his heart — and his big beautiful brain, robbed of blood as it was — were both in the right place. He didn’t think there was a time in his life when someone had been so tender with him, and it ached.

It didn’t need to. He had it now. Danny, burning bright as the sun above him. Steve wrapped his arms around Danny’s neck, and pulled him closer, kissing him again, slow and searing. His mouth was as red as Danny’s, by now, he could feel that. Debauched. Fantastic.

“I feel good. I promise you. I’m not ready to run a marathon, or walk around without crutches. But I can use them. And I want this. I want you. I can say it in three other languages, if you want,” and he murmured into Danny’s left ear, in Arabic, and felt Danny shiver beneath his hands. He said it again in Mandarin, right up against the pulse point on Danny’s throat (at least, he hoped he did; seduction wasn’t exactly one of the lesson plans he’d been exposed to, yet) and finally, with his mouth brushing up against Danny’s cheek, he said it in Spanish. Danny’s eyes were glazed, and his bottom lip looked heavy, and he looked — briefly, worryingly — like he might cry.

He didn’t cry.

“Gotta take it slow,” he answered, pressing a kiss to the corner of Steve’s eye. “And you gotta tell me, babe, if it hurts, if you want me to slow down, if you want me to stop… fuck, I’m never gonna be able to say no to you, am I.”

“You can. Consent is key, remember?”

“I retract that statement. I’m never gonna _want_ to say no to you. God, Steve, do you have any idea what you do to me? You’re making me insane, I love you so fucking much. Fuck. Fuck, are you sure about this…”

“Enthusiastically.”

“No, I mean more generally, are you sure about this, about _us_ , because if you break my heart there’s gonna be nothing left of me.”

It was the sort of statement that would have, once, _no_ , for most of Steve’s life, scared the shit out of him, sent him running. But coming from Danny — though he wished Danny had the faintest idea of how special he was — it just made him want to hold on and never let go.

“I told you, Danny. You give me your heart, and I’ll keep it safe. I never want this to end.”

There was still doubt in Danny’s eyes. Catastrophizing. One of Danny’s secret talents. The gap between what he wanted, and what he thought he deserved, or what might get taken away from him.

But for now, at least, he returned his focus to Steve’s mouth, the kiss deep and searching, their hips beginning to roll together.

“Danny,” Steve whispered. “That shower I took? It was an hour ago. Pipes are clean, but I want this to last for more than three minutes, so I think the rest of these clothes need to go, so we can get on with it.”

He felt Danny grin against his mouth, and they both sat up to undress the rest of the way, Danny looking relieved when his erection was free at last and Steve wasting no time getting his hand on it. The strangeness of an unfamiliar cock, and the angle, was gone, now, and when he touched Danny he always looked him full in the face, waiting for that moment when Danny’s eyes would fall closed, and his mouth would fall open, and his cheeks reddened on his pale face. He swiped over the tip with his thumb, and Danny made a noise that was sort of like a whole bunch of Ns and Hs without enough vowels to make them into something you could spell.

“Where’s the stuff?” he asked.

Steve scrambled for the drawer in his nightstand, and Danny took over, tearing a condom off the strip and setting it aside, and then taking the cap off the lube (there was a little silver seal over the tip which Steve hadn’t even noticed and which would have been a painful interruption in a little while — good thing one of them knew what they were doing, although Steve couldn’t pretend he wasn’t sickeningly jealous of everyone Danny had ever slept with before he met Steve).

“I’m taking this slow,” Danny said. “I want us to remember this.”

“Forever,” Steve said, shifting on the bed until he was partially sitting up, and then spreading his legs, knees slightly bent. He knew the look on Danny’s face, the way he licked his lips, and his cock started leaking in anticipation of Danny’s brilliant mouth.

Danny did not disappoint, taking his time licking and sucking around the head, but this time, Steve felt Danny’s finger begin to rub over his hole.

He let his head fall back. Even this, just this, felt better than he’d imagined, so intimate, Danny touching him there, slowly softening the muscle. Steve rested one hand on Danny’s shoulder (not the back of his head; Steve was so turned on he was afraid the urge to fuck Danny’s mouth might overwhelm him) and reached for the head of the bed with the other, gripping tight.

“Danny,” he murmured. “Fuck, Danny. Fuck, that feels good.”

And then Danny breached him, with one finger, and Steve’s eyes snapped open. This was what he wanted, but not quite what he’d imagined. And then Danny crooked his finger, and Steve cried out.

Danny pulled off him, grinning, and reached up with his other hand to cover Steve’s mouth. “You might want to keep it quiet, babe, people are coming in for dinner. Shhhhh,” he said, but he crooked his finger again, finding that same spot, and Steve felt his entire body clench.

It felt fucking unbelievable.

“Why aren’t more guys into guys?” he asked.

“Oh, Steven. I know you prefer chemistry to biology, but straight men have prostates, too. They just generally also have a bunch of hangups about manliness and penetration.”

“Well, they’re idiots,” Steve said, pushing down as if more of Danny’s finger would get him more of that pressure. His hips rolled, and bucked, and it was almost a relief when Danny stopped, and began sucking again. Though how Steve was supposed to hold off his orgasm like this, he had no idea.

And then there were two fingers, and this time was different; a stretch, a burn, slightly uncomfortable but gorgeous just the same, like the burn of tired muscles. He felt Danny spread his fingers, stretching him out, making him ready, and impatience got the better of him.

“C’mon, Danny,” he said, half out of desire and half nerves.

“Babe, you’re not ready,” Danny said, pulling off his cock with a noisy slurp. His mouth was wet and red, and his eyes were so kind, and so dark, that Steve suddenly felt more naked, and more vulnerable, than he ever had before. “You feel so good. Fuck, I can’t wait, Steve, but I’m going to, because I want this to be so good you’re a shivering wreck when we’re done.”

“Now who’s been reading Harlequins,” Steve replied, his hips pushing automatically against Danny’s hand as Danny added another finger. He closed his thumb and finger hard over the base of his cock, afraid he was going to lose it if he didn’t. Danny took his time, and held eye contact, and Steve felt tears burn his eyes; not pain, but just that same feeling of being completely overwhelmed, with Danny’s focus on him, that heated gaze, even the way his other hand gripped Steve’s hip possessively.

“Please, Danny,” he said, and Danny reached for the condom.

The sudden loss of Danny’s fingers was entirely horrible, but the anticipation was enough to make up for it, and he watched as Danny tore the wrapper open and slipped the condom over his dick.

“How are your legs?” he asked Steve.

“Wide,” Steve deadpanned. “I’m fine, Danny, I swear. Please.”

Danny drizzled some more lube over his cock and reached for another pillow to chock under Steve’s hips. Steve made a point of taking his weight on his legs as he did it. It occurred to him that he’d never had sex with the lights on before; maybe a lamp, just a little illumination, but not like this, not the overhead light so he could see every one of Danny’s straining muscles, every golden hair, every drip of sweat.

Danny pressed one hand against the back of one of Steve’s thighs, and with the other, slowly guided himself inside.

Steve hissed as the head passed his rim, a brief flare of pain which still felt unbelievably good, his eyes rolling back in his head. Danny stopped, then, rocking against him, but not pressing further, though everything on his face (when Steve managed to open his eyes) said he wanted to push.

“More,” Steve said, and Danny nodded, pushing, until Steve groaned loudly, and then bit his own tongue.

“Babe I’m loving this, but you’ve gotta try and keep quieter. Can’t you hear people walking past?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know. Just. It feels good. Feels so good.” Steve took a breath, and vowed to be quiet, and Danny pushed again, this time not stopping until he was fully seated, and his balls smacked against Steve’s taint, and Steve, again, like a fucking exhibitionist, groaned. This time, loud enough to incite a burst of laughter from the corridor outside, which made him blush purple.

“You’re fucking unreal,” Danny said, pressing a hand against Steve’s shoulder, and refusing to move. Fuck. Fuck, Steve was already wrecked. His breaths were long and deep like he couldn’t get enough oxygen if he tried; Danny felt huge, inside him, huge and hot and more satisfying than he’d imagined, despite the stretch he was still trying to get used to.

“Okay, I’m ready,” Steve said, bracing.

“You think you can be quiet?”

“No,” Steve said. He reached for Danny’s hand, on his shoulder, and shifted it to his mouth. Danny’s eyes darkened again. There, that was something he liked. That was going on the list.

Steve nodded, and Danny started to really move, pulling part of the way out and then slamming back in, until they were sticky with sweat and then slick with it. His hand never shifted from Steve’s mouth, and Steve loved the surrender of it. Danny pulled one of Steve’s legs over his shoulder, and Steve felt the shift in angle, the way Danny’s cock brushed against his prostate on every thrust, and it was definitely, definitely good at that point that Danny’s hand was over his mouth, because his cries would have been enough to summon a concerned rescue crew.

Steve barely even noticed his orgasm creeping up, as focused as he was on the sensations in other parts of his body; the way his legs tightened around Danny’s waist and shoulder, the way his heart was racing, and the unbelievable feeling of being full, satisfied, right with the world at last — but he bucked, and clenched, when he shot his load across his own stomach and chest, and clamped down hard over Danny’s cock.

It was Danny’s turn to have to swallow a cry then, his hair (which looked right then like he’d been electrocuted — Steve was so proud) sticking to his forehead and cheeks even as he tossed his head back and his rhythm stuttered, and the thrusting slowed until it seemed more like habit than drive.

Fuck.

_Fuck._


	11. Chapter 11

Steve smiled against Danny’s palm, and Danny must have felt it, because he looked down and grinned right back, slowly untangling himself from Steve’s legs, and moving his hand from Steve’s mouth. For a moment he looked like he might sprawl on his back, but maybe he caught the look on Steve’s face that said the last thing he needed or wanted was space, because instead, Danny slipped the condom off and tied a knot in it, tossing it beside the bed, and settled with his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Their breathing, their heartbeats, settled down in sync. An inch at a time. Ignoring the cooling come on Steve’s chest, and focusing on the warm exhaustion of their muscles.

Steve turned his head. Not something he usually felt the need to ask, but he was suddenly reminded that Danny was the only one in the room who knew what they were doing.

“Was that…”

“Steven, I will staple your lips together if you finish that sentence. What do you think, was it good, oh my god, it was amazing, and I have to tell you, babe, that the whole covering your mouth to keep you silent thing did all kinds of unexpected things to my… I can’t actually be specific, but you look pretty like that.”

Steve snickered. “I think you might be the first person who’s ever called me pretty,” he said.

“No, I’m not. Fuck, I’m glad you talked me around. Are your legs alright? Really? I take back everything I said about the room smelling ripe, please, Steven, exercise all you want to. There’s an entire Kamasutra’s worth of positions we need to try out, as soon as you can hold your own weight.”

Steve guffawed, and curled his arm around Danny’s shoulders, holding him tighter. He was sore, and felt kind of… _empty_ , but still good, lazy and sated and keenly motivated to do this as often as possible.

“Was it good for you?” Danny asked, propping himself up to look at Steve’s face. Maybe so Steve wouldn’t lie. As if there was any need to.

“It was better than good,” Steve said, his expression serious, lips barely curved up into a smile. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about that for months. I’ve wanted that. So bad, Danny, I can’t even tell you. And it was better than I thought it would be. I’m sore, but… I like it. Don’t know how I’m gonna be able to focus on anything else all day tomorrow.”

“Oh come on, you goddamn overachiever, you’ll do fine.” Danny snickered, and rested his head again. “Don’t get greedy, though, okay? I’m a switch. My turn, next time. I wanna ride this thing, not just suck it.” He closed his hand affectionately over Steve’s spent cock, and there was definitely a twitch, though that was all that was possible.

“Might still need your hand over my mouth,” Steve said, grinning, because, yeah, okay, he wanted to try that, too, wanted to try everything. “Never would have thought I’d like that.”

“But you did.”

“I did.” Steve snickered. “I’ve learned more about myself in the last few months than I did in the first twenty-three years I was alive,” he admitted, and he hoped he didn’t sound sad.

“You really never…?”

“No. I mean, _don’t ask, don’t tell_ hit in 1994, when I was… seventeen, in the army-navy academy. And that was it. It was like no matter what I’d ever heard anywhere else, that was the rock solid proof I needed that it wasn’t okay to be attracted to men. That was it. Just… be as disgusting as you want, just keep it so secret that no one ever knows.”

Danny pushed himself up on his elbow again and cupped Steve’s face with his hand. “But you don’t feel like that now,” he said, and it wasn’t phrased to be a question, but there was a question in Danny’s eyes.

“No,” Steve said. “No. No, Danny. This can’t be wrong. I love you. I think when I first… felt… things… I had this idea that it was all about sex, nothing else, but I was a kid, you know? I mean, god, this is embarrassing…”

He swallowed, hard, or tried to, but his throat was so fucking dry. Danny, because he was psychic, reached for the water bottle on the bedside table and passed it to Steve. They both sat up, and Steve wiped most of the come off his chest and stomach with his tank.

“Don’t ever be embarrassed with me, Steve.”

Steve took a breath. “Could we maybe…?”

“Don’t sit up all the way, babe. Not for a while. Just rest against the small of your back.”

He pushed at the sheets, and they spent a few moments getting under them. Steve felt cocooned, even if he was only covered to his waist, and angled up against the pillows. The bed wasn’t quite a double, but it was bigger than a single, and they were close, which was a relief, because Steve didn’t think he could talk about this without Danny’s warmth against his skin.

“There was a guy I knew back home. He was the quarterback at my high school when I was still in junior high, and I had such a crush on him. By the time I was quarterback, he was actually my dad’s partner at HPD.”

“ _Ouch_ ,” Danny said, one hand on Steve’s thigh, the other tangling with Steve’s fingers.

“But I didn’t know… I mean, growing up, I didn’t know any gay couples, I had no idea what that would even look like. I thought it was just, if you liked men, that was for sex, and you eventually married a woman. Fuck, you know, Danny, I’ve thought about it, and I don’t even know where that came from. But that was what I thought. So by the time _don’t ask, don’t tell_ came around, I figured it didn’t really matter. Because in the end I’d want to be with someone, and that would have to be a woman. I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear this.” He rubbed his forehead. “Especially not now.”

“There’s nothing you could tell me about yourself that I wouldn’t want to hear, babe.”

Steve felt a lump rise in his throat, because he believed it.

“So I never… sometimes I felt something, and there were a few guys over the years who I thought… but there was still that feeling that if I went there, it was only sex, and that wasn’t worth it. Not worth the risk. Do you know what I mean?”

“You know how you wanted to kill my ex, a while ago?”

“You ask like I don’t want to kill him anymore, but yeah, I remember. You didn’t completely scramble my brain.”

“Liar. My point is, I want to kill everyone you’ve ever _met_.”

Steve smiled lopsidedly, and leaned in, and Danny rolled over to loom over him and kiss him thoroughly. “You feel that? Never doubt that there’s only sex here, Steve, because you could decide you never wanted to do that again and I’d still wanna be here. Now, don’t stop, because I know if you do, I’ll never get you on this again, and you, my friend, need to talk about this. If it helps you at all, I’m feeling more secure by the second.”

Steve grinned. That actually helped.

“I told Joe about you,” he said, in a rush.

Danny nodded. “Thank you. I’m glad you did that. But I don’t know who that is.”

“He’s been my mentor since I left Hawaii. Got me through the Naval Academy and basic, one tour, and then home for BUD/s. Like a second father.”

“And?”

Steve shrugged. “He said he was happy for me. Said I shouldn’t quit the Navy until he could figure out what that would mean for my tuition here, and my medical insurance. But he said he was happy for me. I don’t know if I believe it, but… I guess I need it to be true. Though walking away, I don’t know, Danny, I’m gonna lose a lot of people. I don’t mind that, because I get to have me. And you. And your family. God, I love your family.”

“Babe, you’re babbling.” But there was a smile in his voice. Danny was such a big family guy, Steve knew it mattered.

“I know, because you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Almost daily.” Danny leered.

“Shut up.” Steve smiled fondly, and shifted lower on the pillows, pulling Danny back into his arms.

They were quiet for a long time, just staring at nothing, and if not for the rumbling in Steve’s stomach, they could have gone to sleep.

“Are you gonna tell your dad?” Danny asked, sounding almost fearful.

It was a fucking good question, and a fair one. Answering it, though, meant sharing a whole lot of other stuff Steve just wasn’t ready for. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think about his father’s summary dismissal, the way he’d tried to be jovial while thrusting a credit card in one of Steve’s hands and a cordless phone in the other, telling him to go spend Christmas in Las Vegas.

He opted to keep it simple.

“As far as I’m concerned, my father doesn’t get to know anything about my life, not anymore,” he said, aiming for cold but sounding numb. He turned to meet Danny’s eyes. “But I’m gonna tell my sister, as soon as I can. And my best friend, Freddie. I need to tell him I’m not coming back, and I want him to know why.”

“I hate the idea that you’re sacrificing your career for me,” Danny said, and his face looked like it hurt.

“I’m not,” Steve said. “I’m choosing another career, and another life. For _me_.”

They kissed aimlessly for a few minutes, and then Steve’s stomach growled aggressively again.

“Someone’s hungry,” Danny said.

“Yeah. But I really don’t wanna face the caff. I’ll pay for a pizza?”

“Alright, but fuck your Hawaiian half, okay, just knowing it was that close to my _actual_ pizza half ruins the entire thing for me.”

“You’re such a snob.”

“This is my town, Steven. Don’t make me punch you.”

 

 

Their first shared shower was interesting, because as much as Steve could definitely _move_ his legs, now, he still couldn’t put his weight on them, which meant he still needed the plastic chair in the shower stall; and honestly, who could blame him if that meant Danny’s ridiculous dick was at the exact right height for Steve to blow him? And then there was the ordering of the pizza (so, so good, watching Danny get all blustery and passionate; Steve pushed the pineapple thing for a good four minutes, just to listen to Danny rant back), and the eating of the pizza, in front of a movie (Platoon, because Danny might not have appreciated the military all that much but he did seem to be a fan of a young Kevin Dillon in khakis).

“Danny?”

“Yeah, babe.” They’d been valiantly attempting to study for a good eight minutes.

“I don’t think I’m bisexual.”

Danny looked up, curious. “Okay. And I need to tell you that you don’t have to be sure, not now, not ever. I think there’s a lot of pressure to find a label. It works for me. I’m attracted to men and women, and I’ll always be bi, even if you and I get old together. And you don’t need to decide your relationships with women weren’t real because of this, alright? You don’t have to choose, you never have to choose, and anyone who tries to make you choose, you’re very free to punch them in the face. Or, if you’re still in the chair, I’ll do it for you. Okay?”

Steve nodded. “Okay. It’s good to know all that counseling training worked for you, though did they really encourage violence?”

“That’s the Williams special. My point is, you don’t have to decide, or figure it out.”

“You think too much. Don’t complicate it. I just, I think I’m gay.”

“Get thoroughly laid one time and I’ve converted you,” Danny joked. “Seriously. If you like the label, wear it proudly. Or quietly, I’m not looking to push you out of the closet. But you don’t have to sign up anywhere. There’s no membership card.”

Fuck, Steve was in love.

 

 

They fell asleep, tangled up like cats.

If it was ever allowed, Steve was gonna ask Danny to _marry_ him.

 

 

Steve treaded water at the end of the pool, and glanced up at Damien.

Damien had surprised him. Nothing had changed between them, and for a week or two, Steve had wondered if Damien was gay himself. But no, actually, it turned out he just wasn’t an asshole.

“Steve,” he said, crouching by the pool. “Nine minutes is ambitious. Eight minutes is way beyond that. If your legs hurt pushing off the tile, you’re pushing too hard, alright? You’re twenty-three. If it takes you another year to get back into BUD/s…”

“I’m not trying to get back into BUD/s,” Steve said, patiently. “No, don’t look at me like that, Damien, I’ve made my decision. I’m not. All I’m trying to do is prove I can.”

“Is there a difference?”

Steve got into position, and waited.

“Go,” Damien said, hitting the button on the stopwatch.

Steve pushed off, and yes, it hurt. And he was more than aware that he couldn’t have held himself up on the edge of the pool and dived from there. But he could already feel how perfect his form was, cutting through the water, almost no pain, a clear slice. Swimming had always been meditative for Steve. Even now, with the chlorine instead of salt, knowing his body wasn’t what he needed it to be, it felt good. Clean. He breathed rhythmically, every six strokes, the way he’d learned, curled at the end for a scant second before he was pushing forward again, and cutting through the water like a blade.

Time, as a concept, vanished, but he never lost count of his laps.

Finally, he hit the wall and pushed up.

“Fuck,” Damien said, shaking his head. He crouched down. “Are you overdoing it?”

“It’s my body,” Steve said. “I know what I can take. If the pain gets in the way, I stop. What’s my time?”

“9.47,” Damien replied. “By the way, I’m not telling Tulip.”

He helped Steve out of the pool and directly back into the chair. Steve was so far beyond hating the thing, but still. That was close to a qualifying swim. His mouth curled into a smile, and then a grin, and he looked up at Damien.

“I’ll get to eight minutes,” he said. “Just watch.”

“Alright, you stubborn asshole. Go shower and change, and we’ll hit the parallel bars.”

 

 

Steve sat at his desk, with a notebook in front of him.

He had a meticulous record. Updated at every opportunity.

 _Swim 500 yards, under 9 minutes, under 8 for officers._ He was almost there. Under ten already. That was good.

 _80-100 push-ups in two minutes._ Well, he was around 50, but that was good, considering the weight on his legs.

Same for sit-ups. That was easier. Weight distributed from his feet to his hips, he was in the mid-90s and getting there. He nodded at the number as if someone was paying attention.

 _15-20 pull-ups_ — he could do 30. No weight on his legs, and no one would argue with his upper arm strength.

 _1.5 mile run in nine minutes_?

He stared with loathing at the crutches and the wheelchair. Not yet. But he would get there. He marked his improvements and crawled into bed, ignoring the exhaustion in his muscles, and when Danny stepped inside and plastered himself against Steve’s back, he smiled, and pulled Danny’s arms closer around his body.

“Love you,” he murmured.

“Love you, too,” Danny replied, and they were asleep in moments.

 

 

“So I don’t want to sound like a lazy student,” Danny said, “but midterms are stupid, and I don’t do any better in classes that have them than classes where I don’t — so I would very much like to see an evidence base for why we have them. You okay, babe?”

Steve was on his crutches. It was shitty, but he was moving at a reasonable speed, and he’d reached the point where unless he was going to have to spend a significant amount of time crawling up and down stairs, he was refusing point blank to use the chair.

“I’m fine,” Steve grunted. “And what are you complaining about? This is the way things work.”

“But why, Steven. Why. Show me the scientific evidence that this is the best way to make people learn and I will throw myself behind it. But no, I don’t think that’s possible. I haven’t seen my family in three weeks.”

Steve hadn’t seen Danny’s family in three weeks, either, and he missed them. He missed Mary, too, now that they were tentatively talking about once a week.

Steve wanted the chair, but he eyed it, being pushed along by Danny, and decided against asking for it. At least until they were forced to part ways.

“Do you want kids?” he asked, instead, and immediately regretted it. That was not a Tuesday morning during midterms kind of conversation.

Danny eased the chair in behind Steve. “I’m not even going to comment on how dramatic that non-sequitur was. Are you alright?”

“I always wanted to be a dad,” Steve admitted.

Danny pushed him toward a bench. They had time. They always cushioned these walks, so Steve could settle if he needed to.

“What’s going on here, babe, I can’t really tell because we’re on the way for you to sit your Arabic exam, and I’m heading to the Center for an hour before I do my psych exam, and I’m not sure it’s the exact right moment to be talking about kids. Especially when we’ve been together for four months.”

Steve leaned forward in his hated chair. “But you still think we can make it,” he said, and it was clearly a question.

“Of course I do, babe, but I don’t get your head all the time. We’ve got years for this. I start at the Police Academy in August.”

August? That was so soon.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Of course you do.”

At some point, Steve was going to have to figure out what he was going to do. Indecision curled in his gut.

“Hey, Danny, I’m fine. I’ll meet you later.”

“At your dorm?”

Steve smiled, and maybe it was a touch lopsided, and maybe it was a touch awkward, but it was a smile.

“You know what, I’ll meet you at the Center.”

 

 

And so it was that at 5.15pm that evening, Steve rolled up to Queer Students’ Services, feeling halfway bold and halfway terrified beyond belief, and he set himself unsteadily for a moment until Louisa, who had at some point decided he was no longer pond scum, stood up to push the door open and let him in.

“Fuck, doll, you’re a lesson in intersectionality,” she said. “Danny! We need to sort out the door for students in wheelchairs.”

Danny appeared from the back room, looking far too gleeful.

“I’ll write a threatening letter,” he said, stepping out from behind the desk, into what Steve had already started thinking of as the living room. He had his hands in his pockets, but Steve was feeling ebullient, and expansive, and reached for his wrist, head craning up for a kiss.

Danny fucking glowed.

He leaned in to kiss Steve’s mouth, and the people sitting around on the couch clapped, and cheered, and fuck, there had never been a moment since high school football when Steve had felt accepted by a group. Exactly as he was. He stood up carefully, out of his chair, and settled into the couch, realizing immediately that he wouldn’t get out of it unaided and not really caring, because when he looked around the room he saw not just Danny, but a bunch of people who would help.

Louisa had her arm around a girl’s shoulders, a girl who was pretty and had her hair and makeup all done up nice, which was somehow surprising but (Steve realized) shouldn’t have been. People sat in pairs and singles around the couches and armchairs, and one couple had a man and a woman, which seemed out of place until Steve remembered that Danny was bisexual, and like he’d said… always would be, and suddenly he liked them afresh, because they hadn’t opted out of their community for the sake of convenience.

“Steve,” Louisa said. “You’re cute as heck — _yes_ , I said _heck_ , my family are fire and brimstone types but remarkably flexible on the subject of who I choose to date. But you don’t have a single pin.”

Steve grinned at Louisa’s girlfriend. He couldn’t really wrap his brain around how nice Louisa had been to him, the last few weeks, but he was accepting it as the gift it was.

“I don’t,” Steve said, adjusting his denim jacket.

Louisa took a pink, purple and blue pin from the bowl on the table, and Steve put his hand up to rest against her wrist.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Haven’t seen you at slam lately,” she said.

“I’ll be there this week,” he promised, sitting up as she attached a rainbow pin to his collar.

Jesus. Jesus fuck. This was exactly the sort of thing that got people dishonorably discharged. But Steve looked down at his pin, and around at his brand new _ohana_ — most of whom he didn’t even know yet — and he really did not fucking care.

 

 

That Monday afternoon, he swam the 500 yards in eight minutes and thirty-three seconds, and wept actual tears by the side of the pool.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Danny stopped insisting on bringing the chair everywhere they went, though Steve didn’t try to walk on the hated crutches for more than fifteen minutes at a time, between classes or to the center, where he was now finding it surprisingly easy to talk to people. Or get some studying done, while Danny talked quietly to someone in the office or on the couches. And then they’d go eat, at Danny’s cafeteria or Steve’s (where, honestly, the food was better) and either study in Steve’s room, or pretend to study until hormones got the better of them. Steve went to the poetry slams, in February and March, and tried not to dread the end of the school year.

A few days before the spring recess, Steve was sitting at his desk poring over a translation when there was a quiet knock on the door. It wasn’t Danny. (When he came by, he knocked, and then came in already halfway through his first sentence, without so much as checking Steve was decent.) But Steve didn’t get a lot of visitors. He climbed carefully to his feet and tucked a crutch under one arm, crossing the room to open the door.

“Joe,” he said, surprised to see his old mentor in civilian clothes.

“Less than a year and you’ve dropped all formalities,” Joe said, nodding, though his eyes twinkled. Steve stepped back carefully to let him in, and closed the door behind them. Joe sat at the desk, and examined the translation, looking pleased. Joe’s Arabic was flawless, and Steve knew the small smile was a serious compliment. “You got a beer here, son?”

“Uh,” Steve said, awkwardly — they really weren’t allowed to keep alcohol in the dorms, but he carefully opened the small fridge and pulled out two bottles, passing one to Joe. Joe grunted his thanks and twisted off the lid, pulling Steve’s notebook across the desk.

“Is this the SEALs admission standards?”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said. He had his own beer open, but was suddenly reluctant to drink it. An unannounced visit from Joe White was unlikely to be good news.

“Very good, son. Very good. But you still can’t run.”

“No, sir, but at least I’m out of the chair, mostly,” Steve said. He eyeballed the beer in his hand, and then gave up. The tension was killing him. He drained a third of the beer in one long swallow. “I’ll get there.”

“Well, that’s good news. When do you think you’ll be there?

Steve shrugged. “By the end of the year, I hope. I still can’t get far without crutches. But I’m stronger all the time.”

“Good, good. Does this mean you’re reconsidering?”

Steve sighed; should have known this was coming.

“No, Joe. I’ve made my decision. I thought I was pretty clear. My life’s here, now. I like it. And —”

He didn’t even get the sentence out when the door opened, and Danny, as anticipated, was already halfway through his first sentence, and carrying a bag of take out (Steve recognized the scent of Vito’s spaghetti bolognese, and hoped to hell there was garlic bread).

“— No! I really, really, do not want to spend a week in Boston, _ma_ , thank you, but she’s pushing it, Steve, so I — oh. Hello,” Danny said, blinking sheepishly as he closed the door behind him. “I’m sorry, Steve, I didn’t know you had company.”

“Commander Joe White,” Steve said, and Joe stood to shake Danny’s hand, casting an appraising look over him.

“Danny Williams,” Danny replied, and if Joe had hoped he’d be intimidated, he was wasting his SEAL face on the wrong man. Danny held his glance, and waved the bag in the air. “There’s enough for three, if I can go scrounge up another plate.”

 

 

It was exactly as awkward as Steve had assumed it would be.

Danny held his own though, and was never less than one hundred percent himself, even under Joe’s scrutiny. He explained quite calmly that he was going to the police academy in July, that he was planning to be a homicide detective in the long term, and that his family, his roots, were all here in New Jersey.

Joe seemed frustrated that Danny was so unflappable, but Steve was proud of him. Joe reached absently for the notebook on Steve’s desk. At least, it was intended to look absent; in truth, Steve suspected it was as intentional as everything else Joe ever did.

“He’s doing well, isn’t he?” he said to Danny, with a proud, crinkly smile that Steve had to acknowledge had a cold tint to it.

“Very very well. He’s hobbling around the campus like the Navy’s negligence only broke his toe, not most of the bones in both of his legs.”

Joe didn’t rise to the bait. “Hobbling, sure, but have you seen this?” He passed the notebook across to Danny, and Steve shook his head. “That’s the BUD/s admission standards.” Joe seemed much too focused on Danny’s face, his reaction. Steve cleared his throat.

“It’s not a big deal. Joe, if it’s alright, I’d really like to hear why you came.”

“Well, Steve, it would probably be better if that conversation was private.”

Steve glanced at Danny, who was placing the book on the bed as if it was a bomb that might go off.

“I should go anyway,” Danny said, standing up slowly. “I still have an essay due before spring recess.”

Steve frowned. That wasn’t true; it was Friday night, which meant recess had already started, technically. But Danny was on his feet. Steve eyed the notebook. Was Danny upset? “Are you coming back later?”

“Not tonight, babe. It was good to meet you, Commander White,” he said. “See you, Steve.”

Steve caught his wrist as he stood, and offered him a searching look, tugging briefly, and Danny leaned in to kiss him. Just a chaste one. Maybe it was a little possessive; Steve hoped it was, because he didn’t like the expression on Danny’s face.

And then the door was shut and Danny was gone.

Steve stared for a long moment, baffled, and then turned back to Joe.

“So that’s your guy,” Joe said.

“That’s my guy,” Steve agreed. “Now please, will you tell me what you’re here about?”

“I’ve been making enquiries, Steve. Now, listen. It would be a mistake to turn your back on the Navy now. You’re not ready for BUD/s, but that doesn’t mean the Navy can’t take you back. You’re working hard, you’re in excellent shape, you’ll be meeting criteria by Christmas. You can start again next July, and in the meantime, you can train up in intelligence. You’re a language specialist, you’re smarter than ninety-five percent of the squad —”

“And I’m done,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Do you understand, Joe? I wasn’t saying I was considering leaving the Navy. I’m out. I’m gay, Joe. I’m in love with the guy you just cross-examined for forty minutes. I don’t wanna spend my life running from country to country. I want to put down roots, have a family. If I do summer sessions and one more year here, with transfer credits I’ll graduate with a bachelor’s degree.”

“A bachelor’s degree.”

“Yeah, a bachelor’s degree, and three foreign languages. I’ll go to the police academy next summer, maybe Quantico in a couple of years. I wanna serve my country, Joe. But I can’t do it with an organization that won’t let me be myself. If I can do it in the streets of New Jersey with Danny by my side, I will. You don’t have to like it, but you’ve got no choice but to respect it.”

Joe held his gaze. “There’s nothing I could do to change your mind?”

“Honestly, Joe — no. Even if the Navy wasn’t the way it is, I’d want to stay. I want to be near him. I like the idea of being a cop. You know, that was what I wanted before Dad told me he didn’t want me to do it. A few months before mom died, before I got shipped off to you.”

Joe was silent, his mouth set in a firm line.

“It’s my life, Joe,” he said.

Joe stood up. “And that’s what I don’t understand, Steve. It’s your _life_. It’s _been_ your life since you landed in Maryland at fifteen. You wanted the Navy, and then you wanted to be a SEAL. You fought tooth and nail. I’ve never seen anyone fight harder. First day of BUD/s, I can pick most of the guys who won’t make it, and you, you were always going to make it. You have an incredible career in front of you.”

“Jesus Christ, Joe, just stop.”

The power imbalance sucked, so Steve stood, leaning heavily on one crutch.

“I didn’t make these decisions for myself. Everything I ever did, I did because I wanted to please my father. My father, who tolerated my presence for less than 24 hours at Christmas and then tried to foist me off onto Aunt Deb in Las Vegas. Nothing was ever good enough, so I kept striving. I had to be the top, and that got me nowhere, so I went for SEALs. And then a fucking Jeep trapped me against a wall and shattered my bones, and did I hear a word from him? I barely heard a word from _you_. So yeah, I’m done having anyone else make my decisions for me. Can you understand that, Joe?”

Joe sighed, and sat down again, and Steve did the same.

“So tell me why you’ve been working so hard to meet the standards for BUD/s. There must be a part of you that wants it.”

“No. I just need to know I’m not less than I was.”

After a few painfully long moments, Joe nodded. He crossed his arms and leaned his elbows on his legs.

“Have you spoken to your father about this?”

“He doesn’t care, Joe. And don’t give me that crap about sending me away to keep me safe. He made his decision. He doesn’t get a voice in mine, not anymore.”

“You’re wrong, Steve. He cares. He called me every week from the moment he sent you to me —”

“And how often did he ask to see me, or speak to me? I’m sorry, Joe, I know what you’re trying to do here but it’s not gonna work. I need to be my own man. I need to make my own decisions. There’s nothing left to talk about.”

Joe held his gaze for a long time, as if Steve would turn back into the scared, obedient fifteen-year-old he’d once been, and then nodded.

“Alright, son.”

Steve waited for whatever was coming next, but Joe only shook his head.

“I have a settlement offer from the Navy. If you decided to sue, you’d have a hell of a case, but I don’t think you want to do that. They’re prepared to offer a payout and cover your tuition until you finish up here. But they’re not willing to acknowledge negligence. You’d get the settlement, and a medical discharge. And if you’d like me to write a letter of recommendation to the New Jersey State Police Academy, I’ll do it.”

He pulled a manila envelope from the satchel he was carrying, and put it on the desk.

“You should look over it. Think about it. Talk to your father. At least, talk to Danny. He seems like a good man, Steve. I might not understand this — but you’re right, I respect it. You know how to get in touch.”

He stood up, slowly.

“And Steve, it’s the twenty-first century. Get yourself a cellphone. You’re impossible to get a hold of.”

At the door, Steve was startled when Joe offered a one-armed hug. Once those documents were signed, he doubted he’d ever hear from the man again, but Joe had meant a lot to him, the last seven years. He hugged back, hard, and for a moment, he felt the back of his eyes warm.

“Travel safe, Joe,” he said, when the hug was done. And he closed the door between them.

He spent a good long while reading over the documents Joe had left. The payout wasn’t huge, but it was enough so he could keep himself going while he finished his degree. Live off-campus, maybe, he liked that idea. He could probably afford to go and spend a week in Los Angeles with Mary and Aunt Deb, if he was careful.

Still, Joe was right. He needed to make sure someone else looked over them, before he signed.

He wished that Danny had said he’d be back, but despite the early hour, Steve was tired. He took a quick shower — on his feet — and crawled into bed, still slightly damp, and hoped he’d sleep through the night.

 

 

In the morning, he made his way slowly across campus to Danny’s dorm, hobbling on his crutches. He had to stop several times along the way to rest on various benches, and it struck him that if he’d used the wheelchair, he’d have done it in half the time. He was irritated, and uncomfortable, and he was haunted by the look on Danny’s face when he’d left the room the night before.

Plus — he never slept as well, or woke as rested, when Danny didn’t spend the night.

He knocked gently on Danny’s door. No clue whether the unpleasant roommate was there or not — a lot of people had left campus in the last couple of days, once their midterms were done. But after only a moment, Danny opened the door, looking tired and worried.

“Hey,” Steve said, and he didn’t object as Danny led him to the bed to sit down. There was a duffel on the bed, already half-packed, and Steve’s heart dropped. “You’re going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “I tried to tell you last night. Ma wants to spend the week in Boston with one of my aunts. By some miracle, we all have the same week off, except for Stella. So.”

Steve nodded sagely. Or at least, that was the intention. He suspected he looked as miserable as he felt.

“That’s great,” he said, and Danny’s shoulders dropped, along with all pretense. He sat on the bed, the duffel between them, and clasped his hands between his knees.

“I’d rather not go,” Danny admitted. “I’m tired, you know. And I thought we could spend some time together.”

“I know family’s important to you, Danny. It’ll be fine.” He wasn’t anticipating an invitation; one thing for Danny’s family to accept him so warmly, quite another for a distant aunt to want him there.

Danny nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“Did your friend leave?”

Steve glanced at Danny, and nodded. “He’s not really my friend. He was my training officer, and he looked out for me because my dad… he’s not my friend.”

“Steve… I don’t understand that notebook. I don’t understand why you’re trying to qualify for BUD/s. I don’t. If you’re sure about this, about us, I don’t know why it matters. I know you need to _be all you can be_ —”

“That’s the Army, Danny.”

“Be that as it may. You’re pushing yourself to do something you say you don’t wanna do and I don’t understand it, babe. I don’t. What does it get you?”

“I just need to know I’m not less than I was.”

“Why does it even matter? You don’t have to be that good anymore. You can be the best at whatever you end up doing, and I know you, Steven, you will be the best at whatever you end up doing, but why those standards?”

Steve closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I need you to know you’re not my plan B. And I think some days I need to prove it to myself, too. And to the rest of the world. That I didn’t quit because I lost my nerve or because I got hurt but because I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

Danny nodded slowly. Steve wanted to reach for him, but the pressure in the air felt like too much. He looked at the carpet instead, mass produced industrial carpet, thin and hard, and stained by years of dirty shoes and spilled coffee. “Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

“If you’re telling me that’s your reason then that’s your reason and I accept that. So, okay. Did he ask you to come back?”

“Yeah.”

“And you said? Come on, Steve, you know I don’t do well with this sort of thing.”

“I told him I’d decided. I told him I’m gonna finish my degree, and that I’m in love with you. I told him I was gonna apply to the Police Academy when I graduate.”

Danny was quiet, and when he reached out to hold Steve’s hand, Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

“That’s really what you want?”

“Wanted to be a cop before I wanted to join the Navy,” Steve said, with a nod. “Seems like the right move, to me. Don’t think I’d make much of a detective, but maybe in a couple of years I could apply to SWAT, maybe even go to Quantico. I’ve got three languages, you know? I think I could be an asset. Danny…”

Danny turned to wrap his arms around Steve, and Steve smiled into his shoulder.

“The Navy offered me a settlement. It’s not huge, but it should keep me afloat for a couple of years. I was thinking maybe we could get an apartment together. I know the Academy is live-in five days a week, but on weekends, it would be easier for us to be together if we had a place.”

Danny pressed his forehead to Steve’s.

“I love how gung-ho you are about things, Steve. I can see it, you know, you in the Navy, rushing in the direction of a firefight. Taking command. I can see everyone saying, _Steve McGarrett, he’s a good man in a tight space_. I love it, babe.”

Steve smiled.

“Which is why it’s gonna kill me to say this — but you need to slow down. I need you to slow down. Because, you know, things change, people change, and for what it’s worth, Joe’s right — you need to be sure about this. And I need you to be sure about this.”

Steve felt his face fall. “You want to… are you breaking up with me?”

“No,” Danny said, taking his hand. “No, I’m not, I’m not, babe, I’m only saying — I’m gonna go to Boston. I’m gonna spend the week with the family — this is the Williams part, not the Morettis, not that it makes much difference, really, everyone drinks too much and talks too loud and gestures too much, and you gotta really shout to make yourself heard — believe it or not, compared to that particular branch of the family tree, I’m downright laconic… though no less vertically challenged than I am anywhere but an elementary school, but I digress.”

“Constantly.”

“Think about it for a week. For me. And really think about it. Don’t just spend the week tryin’ to break the sound barrier on your crutches and overdoing it in the pool, alright, make lists. Pros and cons. For all of it. For going back to the Navy, for becoming a cop, for staying in Jersey — talk to your aunt. Talk to Joe. Hell, talk to your father, if you can bring yourself to try.”

Steve sighed. “I don’t get it, Danny. I know you want this. Why can’t you trust that it’s what _I_ want, too?”

Danny slouched, letting go of Steve’s hand and resting his fists on the edge of the mattress.

“In my experience, if something seems too good to be true, it usually is. You’re right, yes, I want this, I want it very much, okay, but every step we take makes me realize how much more I’ve got to lose. So I need you to do this, if that’s okay with you.”

Steve nodded, slightly deflated. This really wasn’t how he’d imagined this going. He knew how Danny felt about him. It was there in every look, every touch, but this was the second time he’d asked to take some time, and he was losing count of the number of times he’d had to reassure Danny he was in this 100%. Was it Steve? Was there really something about him that screamed _I’ll leave the first chance I get, so don’t get attached_?

He planted his hands on his thighs.

“Alright,” he said, because there really wasn’t another option. “Alright. But you have to think too. About finding our own place. Living together. Being together. If I have to write lists, you have to write lists too. Promise me, Danny.”

Danny met Steve’s eyes, and took a breath. Something hopeful flickered across his face, and Steve gave him a smile that was meant to look reassuring, but had to have been a lot better than that, by the shift in Danny’s features. He leaned in, pressing his forehead and nose to Steve’s.

“I promise,” he said, but he didn’t pull away.

“People greet each other like this in Hawaii,” Steve said, long moments later. “It’s called the _honi_. It’s sacred.”

Danny reached up to cup Steve’s jaw with his hand, and drew him into a kiss that got heated fast, leaving Steve gasping when Danny pulled away again.

His eyes were so warm and blue.

“You’re not really self-conscious about your height, are you, Danny? Because you shouldn’t be.”

“No, Steve, I’m not.”

“Because I like to think of you as one of those really small chocolate bars, you know,” he deadpanned. “They call those _fun-size_.”

“I will punch you so hard you can see your own subconscious mind.”

Steve glared. “You’d punch a guy who can’t even walk?”

“Yes, yes I would, Steven, but only if that guy was you. And then I’d apologize profusely, because it’s not _nice_ to do that to a guy who can’t walk, but then I’d wait until you were completely healed and then I’d punch you again, okay, just to show you I _can_ , and also to remind you why it’s a bad idea to call me fun-sized.” There was a distinct growl in Danny’s tone, but his eyes were sparkling. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too, Danny. Have a good time in Boston. Try not to shout yourself hoarse.”

He pulled himself onto his feet, adjusting the crutches under his armpits, and slowly headed back across campus to his own dorm, to count down the days.

 


	13. Chapter 13

It took a few days for Steve to force himself to fulfill his promise. Days filled with such achievements as balancing a spoon on his nose for almost twenty seconds, and rewatching all three Die Hard movies in his underwear. Reading a couple of truly awful spy thrillers that he’d found in the common room.

Though he didn’t waste every second. True to form, Steve also spent a significant amount of time hobbling around on one crutch, swapping sides from time to time, building up how much weight his knees could take. Also, on Monday and Tuesday, a good long time in the pool, carefully slipping in early in the morning and then returning when Tulip and Damien were working in the afternoon.

Tulip gave him the stink-eye both days. The woman could read Steve’s thoughts. She also wasn’t impressed when he shot her a radiant smile, just narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.

(She looked a little like Mary when she did that. Though Mary was never as good at calling Steve on his shit as he was at calling Mary on hers.)

So, four days. Four days down, four to go, if Danny was still planning to come home on Saturday afternoon.

On Tuesday, in the early evening, Steve packed a satchel with his notebook and pen, and grasping to his chest a powerful need not to be stuck in his dorm room he hobbled to a café to write his lists. The food in the dining hall had left a great deal to be desired the last few days, with most of the student body heading off to various family homes to be lavished with affection and home cooking, so Steve was glad for the chance to order something that didn’t taste like feet. Soup and a sandwich, pretty simple. He ate one-handed with his hand poised over the page. He’d drawn a neat line down the center of the page and at the top of one column, he’d simply written NAVY. Not SEALs, not BUD/s, just Navy, in case his careful progress tracking was permanently stalled by the fact he still couldn’t walk unaided, let alone run.

At the top of the second column, he’d written POLICE.

It didn’t have to be police. Though Steve hadn’t exactly been _gung-ho_ about this assignment, he’d done some daydreaming. He imagined teaching science — probably chemistry — in a high school. Teaching languages. Doing his PhD and finding himself a place in the Ivy League, wearing a corduroy jacket with leather patches on the elbows. In all honesty, none of it appealed for more than a few moments. Steve had joined the Navy, yes. But if he hadn’t, there was no doubt in his mind that he would have followed in his father’s footsteps and become a cop — just, probably, not a cop who spoke three languages other than English… four, if you counted Pidgin. And who came pre-loaded with military training.

Steve’s handwriting was so neat that people often expressed surprise. Wasn’t a surprise to anyone who knew him very well. Steve had discipline, understood the value of precision, and his handwriting reflected that. Military didn’t actually mean bonehead, no matter what people wanted to believe.

Beneath the heading that read POLICE, Steve wrote Danny’s name neatly, and then he set his pen aside, pondering as he finished his soup, louder than necessary.

“I think I understand what Danny means about your aneurysm face,” Louisa said, sliding into the empty chair across from Steve, wearing a Bikini Kill t-shirt under a plaid shirt. Her hair was blue. Hadn’t been, the last time he saw her. It suited her, in a strange way; looked almost natural. He blinked at her in surprise, and then feigned irritation.

“If anyone makes faces, it’s Williams,” he said, putting his soup spoon down with an indignant clatter. “I don’t make faces.”

“Right, right,” Louisa said with a grin. “You know, you’re both pretty good at wielding a kicked-puppy face. I hate that face on him.”

“Because he can get you to do anything he wants,” Steve said, but Louisa shook her head.

“No. That’s not why.” She caught the attention of a passing waitress. “What’s your absolute cheapest bottle of red wine? I have no standards. If there’s something you usually cook with, that’s fine, as long as it’s less than…” She opened her wallet, chained as it always was to her pocket. “Eight dollars. Well.”

“I’ve got some money,” Steve said, grinning. “Bring the cheapest bottle that won’t give us an ulcer,” he amended, and the waitress left.

Louisa reached for Steve’s notebook, meeting his eyes for a moment to seek permission, and he shrugged. It was a page with three words on it. Not exactly personal.

“Hmm,” she said, sneaking a couple of potato chips of Steve’s sandwich plate. “Well, you can spell. That’s a nice surprise.” She reached for Steve’s pen. “This doesn’t look like a very Steve McGarrett thing to do. Pros and cons are so… bloodless.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. It’s not my idea of a good way to make a decision.”

“And what’s a good way to make a decision? Wait for someone to tell you what to do, and then shout _Sir, Yes Sir_?”

“We don’t say that. I don’t know where TV got that from. But I take your point. I don’t really feel like I’ve made too many decisions for myself at all, for my entire life. Just went wherever I was told to go. And this decision? I’ve made it. It’s rock-solid. DADT makes my stomach turn. I want to be here, with Danny.

“But Danny…” Steve waved helplessly at the nearly-blank page. “He wants me to do this because he says we both need to know I’m sure. But I’m sure, Louisa. I don’t know how to convince him of that. I’m not just leaving th Navy to be with him. I’m leaving the Navy to leave the Navy.”

She had a way of looking at Steve that made him feel terrifyingly _seen_.

“He’s had a rough couple of years,” she said. “You can’t blame him for being a little gun-shy.” She smiled at the waitress and poured Steve a glass of wine which, while cheap, wasn’t entirely undrinkable. “And don’t ask me to be more specific than that, sailor. It’s not for me to tell. He’s a good man who’s had a rough time and he needs some understanding.”

Steve pushed the last of the soup away, and ate the last crust of his sandwich.

“I asked him to move in with me after graduation. I know he’ll be away all week at the academy, but I thought… he could come home to me on the weekends, you know? I’ll have summer school, and then the semester starts in September… and there won’t be a lot of time. I wanna take what I can get. Maybe that’s selfish.”

“Maybe. Yeah. No. Does it even matter? It’s what people do. Fall in love, settle down…” She turned the glass, stem held between her fingers. “Danny’s that rare thing, you know. He’s got the biggest heart of any man I’ve ever known, and he’s not ashamed of it. And he’s not even that protective of it, which is a shame, a lot of the time, because — yeah, he’s prone to getting kicked in the teeth by life. One thing or another. But he, he… oh, man, Steve, he’s crazy about you. He looks at you and he pictures a life together. That’s what scares him. He’d lose a lot, if he lost you.”

Steve nodded, and looked out over the street. He had so few models of what a life together meant. Danny’s parents were the closest, and he’d only known them a few months. He could barely remember the way his own parents had been, together. His strongest family memory was of his father telling him he was being sent to the mainland. Of the family coming apart, without the center pin to hold them all in place.

But he knew what he wanted. Love, and affection, and squabbling the way only Danny could; affection, long slow mornings in bed and cooking for each other. Sex, so much sex, Danny teaching him all the ways they can be together, discovering the rest for themselves. Sharing in all the little triumphs and tragedies of a life well-spent together.

Maybe kids, one day. The thought made Steve smile.

“He’s not gonna lose me,” he said, bringing the glass to his lips again. There was something so decadent about drinking wine on a Tuesday night, quite unplanned. The sun was gone now. New Jersey was as far from Hawaii as anything Steve could have imagined, when he’d lived there. Hawaii had nightlife, but New Jersey… people _lived_ here. At night. It had a different feeling. People stopping by themselves to eat dinner with a book and a nod for the passers-by, people walking together in the evening breeze. There was real weather. He’d been living in Newark for almost a year, and at some point it had stopped feeling claustrophobic and started feeling moody and atmospheric, or something. The oil-slick streets and the skyscrapers. Steve felt his lips curl into a smile, and felt Louisa’s eyes on him.

When he turned back to her, she nodded, slowly.

“Alright,” she said. “Okay. Then you don’t have to be in such a rush. If you’re planning to stay with him, you wanna build a life with him, you don’t have to be so intense about the idea of sharing an apartment in… what is it, three months? Just get through the rest of the year, Steve, you’ve got nothing to prove, and it’s not like there’s a lot of time for apartment hunting when we’re studying for exams.”

She topped off his wine glass, and her own, and picked up his pen.

“So you really don’t feel compelled to run around the planet chasing shoe bombers anymore? No regrets at all, no niggling voice in your head that says you’ll be missing out?”

Steve shook his head. “All I’ve ever wanted was to help people. There’s more than one way to do that.”

She nodded thoughtfully, doodling in the corner of the page.

“I’ve got a question for you. What if Danny wasn’t part of the equation? What if you’d never met him?”

Steve thought about those first few days, sitting in his room, wheeling himself around the campus and failing to talk to people, sometimes even to make much eye contact with anyone. Not meeting Danny Williams wasn’t something he really wanted to imagine.

“I might never have figured out there was another option,” he said, quite honestly. “So I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Hmm. Fair. Okay. What if he got back from Boston tomorrow, and he was done with you? Met some strapping young paramedic with an ass as shapely as yours? It could happen.”

“Oh, should you really be noticing the shape of a guy’s ass?”

“Gay, Steve. Not blind.”

Steve smiled, though it fell when he tried _not_ to imagine that. It was even worse. But he took the point she was trying to make, and it was a reasonable one. Things filtered into place, in a strange sort of a way. Steve closed his eyes, and imagined Danny coming to his dorm on Saturday night to say they were done. It would hurt like hell. And what would he do? Thanks Danny for his honesty, finish the semester, maybe go finish his rehab in Honolulu and reapply for BUD/s the following year? Or would he apply to the Police Academy, make New Jersey his home? He could be a cop in Honolulu — that wasn’t his father’s decision to make.

The Navy. Knowing himself the way Steve did now, knowing how he felt about the ugly policies that had stopped him from understanding sooner — he realized he didn’t need to be in the top 0.1% of soldiers. He wanted to be himself, make a difference in the world, and live a life that was more than just sacrifice.

He opened his eyes. “Thanks,” he said. He didn’t bother to explain. Louisa would get it. She gave him a look that might have been fond, and raised her glass.

“To the heart of Danny Williams, then. Long may you keep it safe.”

Steve felt his cheeks warm. Danny talked more to Louisa than he’d guessed. “To Danny Williams,” he agreed, glad for the cool breeze that was beginning to rise.

“Just remember this conversation when you’re picking out groomsmaids in a few years.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed.

 

 

Steve glanced at the brand new cellphone that was sitting on his desk, charging. He’d picked this one out because the rumor was it was almost impossible to break a Nokia. It was supposed to charge for a full 12 hours before he turned it on and started figuring out the menus. But he had Joe’s papers signed and sealed into an envelope, and he wanted Joe to know to keep an eye out for it before he put it in the post. He glanced at the pile of notebooks on the desk, the stack of textbooks on the hutch above it, and yawned, before getting carefully to his feet to do some stretches. The urge was there to do a few rounds of sit-ups and push-ups but he was a little wrung out, not sleeping so well on his own, wishing he’d asked Danny for his aunt’s phone number.

He startled, at the knock on the door, and hobbled across the room to open it, anticipatory and apprehensive, but it was Abigail, from the same floor, in her wheelchair.

“Wow, you got tall,” she said. “Congrats. The phone’s for you.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder and wheeled in the direction of the common room. Steve smelled popcorn; there had been movies and junk food and endless cans of off-brand soda in there all week. College students were such party animals.

“Thanks, Abby,” he said, pulling his crutches up underneath his armpits, and checking his door was unlocked before he pulled it closed.

Danny sounded a little quiet and furtive, but Steve thought it was because of the house full of loud people, rather than any actual anxiety on his part; he did sound glad to hear Steve’s voice, though, and Steve settled himself onto a dining chair that someone had left by the hallway phone earlier in the evening.

“I miss you,” he said. He could hear the smile in Danny’s voice when he answered “Geeze, McGarrett, you’re a sap. We need to find a way to harden you up.”

“I’ve got some ideas,” Steve replied, grinning.

“And now his mind’s in the gutter. Ladies and gentlemen, the rumors about sailors are all true. Got a fella in every port, superSEAL, I bet.”

“Naw, Danny. Just Newark Bay. You having a good time?”

“I even got a word in edgewise, this morning. It was good. The word was ‘HEY’, and it was answered with a lot of jeering, and some suggestion that it’s only guys not manly enough for the fire service who end up cops, but I managed to forebear, with my usual grace.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Besides, since Matty’s looking to be a big time hedge fund guy, he’s the better target. And he’s less curmudgeonly than I am.”

“You _are_ curmudgeonly.”

“I am an eighty-year-old man in a twenty-three-year-old body, my friend. Thinking very seriously about getting a hat that smells weird.”

“Oh yeah? And when was the last album released that was worth listening to, Danny?”

“1995.” No hesitation. “It was a damn good year. Springsteen and Bon Jovi each blessed me personally and our great state more generally with new studio albums. I don’t think I went anywhere without a Walkman that whole year.”

Steve laughed. “You still had a walkman in 1995?”

“Well, I was poor. And also, the scratches on the cassette tapes made the whole thing feel like a fantastic soundtrack for a moody Jersey boy on the bus. So.”

They were silent for a few moments, but there was nothing awkward about it. Just enjoying the sounds of each other breathing, from a couple of hundred miles away. Steve rubbed at one knee. The changing temperatures were making his scars ache.

“So I’ll be back tomorrow night. I thought maybe I’d come straight to yours, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, Danny. You should do that.”

“We probably need to talk.”

Steve’s heart stuttered. “Yeah, yeah, we can talk.”

“Calm down, babe. We need to talk, about good things, I think. And then I think I’ll stay the night. I haven’t been sleeping so good.”

“And you think I’m gonna let you sleep?” Steve tried not to let the sudden overabundance of good cheer sneak into his voice, but he failed. He could hear the answering grin in Danny’s voice.

“I’d better go. If I’m not terribly mistaken, I just heard the opening bars of ‘Danny Boy’ on my uncle’s fiddle and I have some yelling to do. Why do people provoke me, Steven?”

“Because it’s fun when you react. Go have a good night, Daniel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He hung up the phone, and stayed sitting where he was for a few minutes longer, staring across the corridor at the bulletin board covered in fliers. Tutors, and live music, plays being performed by the theater department and missing bicycles.

Less than twenty-four hours.

 


	14. Chapter 14

“Hi, honey. I’m home,” Danny said, as he opened the door. “Actually, scrap that. Honey doesn’t work for you. If there’s anyone sweet in this relationship it’s me.”

Steve looked up from where he was stretched out on the bed with a delighted grin. “I’m sweet on you,” he said, slyly, and reached for Danny’s hand, pulling him onto the bed. He let Danny drape over him, ear resting on Steve’s heart. He ran his fingers through Danny’s hair, and Danny didn’t beat him to death with a textbook; seemed like a reasonable indication of a good mood. The other hand rested on Danny’s back, soaking up the warmth.

“Did you have a good time?”

Danny made an equivocal gesture with one hand, which Steve took to mean _I love my family, but they’re all nuts_. Danny’s knuckles were bruised, and a little swollen, one partly split.

“Jesus, Danny,” Steve said, reaching for his hand. “What happened?”

“I’m fine. A couple of my cousins are into bareknuckle boxing.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Helps me work through things. I like it. It’s primal. No padding, no rules except _don’t break anyone’s nose if you want to get invited to Christmas next year,_ or ever. Plus the gentleman’s agreement, of course.” He looked up, and Steve saw the dark purple lines around his eyes, the slight swell of the bridge of his nose; the tear in his lip; he looked happy, though, and more relaxed than he’d been in a while. He grunted against Steve’s chest as he rested again, arms snaking around Steve’s waist. “You know. The agreement where, if you punch me in the dick I will punch you in the dick much, much harder, until you’re crying in a parking lot in Southie at two in the morning and siring children is off the cards for good.”

Oh, _that_ gentleman’s agreement.

“You wanted to talk?”

Danny grunted again. “Later,” he said. “‘m tired, babe. They’re like a pack of gorillas. Just let me be quiet for a while. It’s nice.”

Danny, quiet. Steve grinned, and kept up the petting. It was sort of hypnotic, after a while, and he was sure Danny was almost asleep. Seemed that way, anyway, until Danny tipped his head back, and kissed Steve’s jaw, his tongue darting out experimentally to taste his skin. Steve murmured, as the touch sent a series of very warm, pleasant sensations straight to his dick, which nudged at Danny hopefully. Danny crawled his way up Steve’s body until he was straddling his thighs, bruised eyes half-lidded and a hungry look on his face, licking his lips before he kissed Steve hard. Steve slipped one hand up under Danny’s shirt, and when his blunt fingernails dragged over the warm skin, Danny shivered, and pressed closer.

“I missed you,” Steve said again, as Danny’s kiss shifted to his jaw, to his ear.

“I missed you, too, you sappy neanderthal. And you know what — I’m done not having the things I want because I might lose them one day. So if you still want to get an apartment after graduation, I’m in, Steve. All yours, but you should know, I’m a slob, and an unrepentant one, so if you’re expecting military corners and wiping my fingerprints off every surface before bed I have some really terrible news for you.”

Steve felt a surge of fierce joy. Hell, Danny could eat in bed and he wouldn’t give a shit. Well, no, he really really _would_ give a shit but he’d deal.

“Okay,” Steve said. “I can get used to fingerprints. And I’m not military anymore, remember?”

“You did your homework?”

“Yeah, I said I would, remember? I do listen to you when you talk, even if it’s hard because there is so much to listen to and you talk at the speed of automatic gunfire.”

“Your similes are awful, babe, I ever tell you that?” He sat up, one hand on the head of the bed behind Steve, the other on his bicep. “And?”

Steve shrugged; he didn’t want to spend the time just then talking through his thought process, especially since it was still a jumbled mess in his head; this wasn’t high school math, he didn’t have to show his work to get full marks.

“I realized if you decided tomorrow that you didn’t want to be with me anymore, that I still wouldn’t want to go back to the Navy. My life’s different, now, Danny.”

“I promise I’m not going to decide tomorrow that I don’t wanna be with you. I’m in it for the long haul, babe.” Danny looked pleased, though. Maybe he had a point. Wouldn’t have been fair for Danny to think he was responsible for a decision this big, and Steve didn’t want to put that on him.

“Good,” Steve said, as they came together again, tugging at clothing and kissing even more ferociously. “Then it’s my turn to fuck you.”

“Fuck,” Danny said. “Fuck, yes. Just like this, riding your dick — are you sure it’ll be okay on your legs, because I’ve been thinking about this all week and I really, really want it to be okay on your legs.”

“It’ll be okay on my legs,” Steve promised. “Get your clothes off, Danny. I missed looking at you. I like looking at you.”

“Got a way with words, sailor, you know that?”

“Not a sailor anymore.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Banter, stupid banter to fill up the too-long moments it took to get all of this unreasonable clothing away from them. Steve eyed the bruises around Danny’s ribs and collarbone, but Danny waved off his worry, and he wasn’t acting like he was in pain. And then Danny was touching him, finally touching him, those strong, blunt hands mapping muscle and bone, followed by his mouth. Steve hadn’t even known he had a thing about the skin directly below his bellybutton until the first time Danny placed a worshipful kiss there, but now it rated among his favorite erogenous zones. Danny nosed along the crease of his thigh and Steve felt his breath hitch. Danny looked up and grinned, wincing when the split in his lip stretched.

“I can’t believe you and your cousins beat each other up. This is what passes for entertainment among the Williamses?”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t love it, babe. Lube?”

Steve pulled a tube out of the dresser table with a flourish. “You might have to talk me through it.”

“I would love to talk you through it,” Danny said. “You know how much I like talking.”

“Got some idea, yeah,” Steve said, as Danny climbed up to kiss him again, heated and desperate in moments. Steve’s hands ran down his back to grip his ass roughly, and Danny let out a strangled moan. Their hips rocked together, and they seemed to realize at the same time that this would be over before they began if they didn’t stop.

It took a moment to figure out the best way to do this; Steve couldn’t kneel for longer than a few seconds, so Danny lay alongside him, presenting his back. His shoulders had to be broader than Steve’s, and this angle set them off so nicely.

“Plenty of lube, babe. Start with one finger.”

“Get your hand off your dick, Danny,” Steve barked back, but even he could hear the grin in his voice. Danny tried to get comfortable, lying partly on his stomach to give Steve better access to his hole.

“Go gentle.”

“I remember what you did. Believe me, I think about it a lot.” To prove his point, he probed gently around the tight muscle, softening it up while Danny squirmed and begged — _please, Steve, please, you’re killing me here_ — and then slipped his finger inside. Velvety-smooth and hot. He pushed a little further, and crooked his finger, searching for that spot inside where Danny had touched him.

He knew he’d found it when Danny bucked like he’d been electrocuted, grunting through tightly clenched teeth and pushing back against Steve’s finger.

“There’s nowhere I don’t wanna touch you, Danny,” Steve murmured into his ear, as he added a second finger and began to stretch him out. Danny’ head fell back, pressing against Steve’s shoulder, needy and desperate. “You feel so fucking good, Danny, I never wanna let you go.”

“Just… more, Steve. More, I need to feel it. I’m gonna ride you so good, babe, you’re never gonna want it to end.”

Steve sincerely doubted that; his cock was rock-hard and aching, and by the time he had Danny on top of him, he was going to be desperate to come; but he appreciated the intention behind it. He added a third finger, and Danny grunted hard, but still quiet.

“Is it enough?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, babe. Fuck, I don’t want it to stop but I want you in me. So bad. You got a condom?”

Steve had in fact taken careful precautions to ensure he didn’t run out of condoms for the next decade, but he didn’t say so. He withdrew his fingers, grabbed a little foil packet from the dresser, and carefully rolled it down over his cock, biting his lip; so over-sensitized he could have gone off at any second, and he didn’t want to. He rearranged the pillows behind his upper body so he could sit up a little.

Danny already looked wrecked, and Steve loved it, as Danny climbed over him, and leaned into to kiss him, his mouth, his jaw, his neck. Danny snatched the lube from where it had landed on the blanket, and drizzled a generous amount over Steve’s dick; even through the latex, it was cold enough to take him down a notch, which meant there was a chance of this lasting for more than thirty-five seconds.

“If anything hurts,” Danny started.

“Yeah, yeah. You, too,” Steve replied, watching as Danny squatted over him, and took Steve’s cock in hand, guiding it into himself. And oh, fuck. Fuck, it felt good, so tight and warm, and Danny’s mouth falling open in ecstasy was a sight Steve wouldn’t soon forget. He went slow, adjusting to the stretch every time, and Steve ran his hands over Danny’s thickly furred thighs, around his hips, over his ass, letting himself touch the place where Danny was stretched around him.

“Jesus, Danny… I need more. I need more, can I move? Can I fuck you?”

“Yeah,” Danny replied. “Yeah, babe, just give me a minute, here… yeah, do it. C’mon, Steve.”

Danny’s hands were pressed against Steve’s chest, and Steve began to roll his hips, gently at first, trying to find a rhythm they both liked. And then harder, hips snapping, hands lifting Danny off him for a moment before he slammed back in.

Steve let out a cry that was far too loud, and Danny pressed a hand over his mouth. Apparently, that was going to be a thing, now, too; Steve liked it too much, this commanding side of Danny Williams, in control even as his pupils were blown black with lust and every muscle in his body was screaming.

Danny shifted his angle until Steve knew he was hitting that spot because his eyes almost rolled back in his head. His expression was one of ecstasy, and he came untouched, painting Steve’s chest with come, his hand slipping from Steve’s mouth.

Steve didn’t last much longer, heat pooling at the base of his spine and his balls swelling suddenly, losing his rhythm as his orgasm hit, arching his back off the bed as he bit his tongue with the effort to keep quiet.

Danny came to rest over him as he felt himself soften and slip out. The mess was glorious. Steve stroked patterns into Danny’s broad back, and Danny was almost purring against his neck.

“First thing we do when we get a place of our own — no more of this staying quiet,” Danny growled. “I want you to hear how good you make me feel.”

“I’ll miss you covering my mouth like that,” he admitted.

“Variety is the spice of life.”

Steve battled the urge to ask if he’d been good; it had felt fucking amazing, and it was time to stop second-guessing himself, time to stop needing to be told when he was getting things right.

“We’d better find something with thick walls,” he said instead, grinning. “I don’t think I like you being quiet any more than I like holding my own tongue.”

They lay that way for a while.

“That shower of yours is probably a lot roomier without the chair.”

“Pretty roomy.”

“How long can you stand for?”

“A while, if I hold the rail. You offering to clean your mess off my chest?”

“Well, it seems only polite.”

“And you’re all about manners. Clara Williams raised you right.”

“Damn straight.”

“Think we’re way past straight at this point, Danny.”

Danny lifted his head up, expression gleeful. “Have I ever told you how glad I am you spilled my coffee over me that day?”

Steve laughed. “We would have found each other even if I hadn’t.”

 

 

With only six weeks left until finals, there wasn’t a lot of time for anything but studying. Or so it seemed to Steve. Danny had a more balanced view of the world, though, and dragged him to Uncle Vito’s every couple of weeks to let their brains take a break. Even so, there was a tension, and it had nothing to do with exams, and everything to do with knowing there was less than six weeks after that before Danny headed off to the police academy. He’d been accepted, of course. There was never a chance he might not be.

“I’ve got my summer enrollments all figured out,” Steve said, over a bowl of pasta roughly the size of his head. “It’s gonna be a big load, but that’ll just keep me occupied while I’m missing you.”

“What’ve you got?”

“I have to do two units of literature to finish the bachelor’s, so those, of course. A political science unit, and a criminology specialist course on organized crime. Should be fun. Seems like the sort of thing I should know a little about, if we’re gonna stay here long-term.”

Danny squirmed in his seat. “Yeah.” He twirled spaghetti on his fork. “We never talked about that, babe. Is that what you want? I mean — you don’t wanna go back to Hawaii, or…”

“Home’s where you are, Danny. I told you that. And it’s definitely not Hawaii, not anymore.”

 

 

Danny’s graduation party was a huge family affair, as Steve had assumed it would be. A lot of the family hadn’t seen him out of the chair and getting around on crutches, and almost no one had seen him walking by himself, so there was a lot of congratulating, though they managed to focus on Danny most of the time. It struck Steve that most of the people he’d befriended had just graduated. The summer, and the next year, would be lonely.

He’d deal with that when he had to, though, rather than start anticipating it now. He had a couple of weeks before the summer session started, enough time to rest up and for he and Danny to find an apartment. The only stipulation they really had was for it to be close to campus, on a bus line to East Orange. That meant it would also be close enough to the academy that Danny didn’t have to waste a lot of time getting home on Friday night, or leave too early on Monday morning.

“There’s no elevator, Steve.”

“Using the stairs is good for you.”

“Yes, using the stairs is good for _me_. Using the stairs is not good for _you_ , my friend, because you still can’t get very far without crutches, and if you fall down the stairs I’m going to come home to find your broken body in the foyer, and then there will be no sex. So. Elevator.”

So that became another stipulation.

The stipulation list grew quickly, after that though.

“This kitchen is the size of a broom closet, Steven. No, that’s not fair to broom closets.”

And,

“Show me where in this place I could put a desk, Danny. No, really, show me. Maybe a desk for midgets, which is probably what you’re used to.”

And,

“I smelled _urine_ in the corridor, Steven.”

There was no arguing that one.

“Danny, it’s structurally unsound. There’s paper over the cracks in the walls. We’d drown in the first serious rain.”

“But the kitchen!”

And then, when they stopped for pizza at Uncle Vito’s, he sat down with a freshly mixed Negroni and leaned in conspiratorially.

“I know a guy.”

Uncle Vito always seemed to know a guy.

“Is it possible for an apartment to fall off the back of a truck?” Danny asked, with a growl in his voice that suggested that he knew all about Vito’s guys. “Will the police come and repossess the place in the middle of the night?”

Vito twisted Danny’s ear. “You’re not too old for me to put you over my knee,” he threatened. “I’m telling you. I’ve got a guy. He owes me a favor or two. I give him a call, you go see the place, what’s the harm? How many places you looked at so far, eh? Danny? Steve, how many places? Chew that before you swallow it, I’m too old to do the Heimlich.”

Steve made a point of chewing obnoxiously, because he was five years old at heart when he was in a snit.

“Fine, call your guy,” Danny said, giving Steve a helpless look.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to register for on-campus housing next year. But Steve caught Danny’s eye, and gave him a small smile, and Danny rolled his eyes and tangled their legs under the table.

Nah. Hey, maybe Vito’s guy would come through.

 

 

Vito’s guy came through.

The place was small, but clean, on the third floor of an apartment block that wasn’t exactly new, but wasn’t doing its best to collapse, either.

If you leaned out the window, you could just see the bay, not that it held a candle to the sparkling ocean of Hawaii, but it was water, anyway. The kitchen was big enough, there were two bedrooms (one would be perfect for a study, maybe with a treadmill against the wall so Steve could overdo it in peace) and there was plenty of light. And best of all, it was empty, freshly painted and ready to move into.

There had to be something wrong with it.

“Okay,” Danny said. “There has to be a catch. This place is very very nice, and we’re young and poor, so we can’t afford it unless it was the site of, I don’t know, a mob hit or something. I’ll go on the record right now and say I don’t even really mind if it was the site of a hit — these things happen, and no Williams ever looks a gift horse in the mouth, but I would like to know, if it’s alright with you.”

Vito’s guy gave a shrug. “No mob hit,” he said.

“Thin walls?”

“No.”

He was as laconic as Vito was vocal.

“Sir,” Steve said, “we like it a lot, but you have to admit, Danny has a point.”

The man shrugged. “Maybe you help out, from time to time. I’m not such a young man anymore, my hands hurt. Someone need a lock replace, you fix. Maybe little bit of fix the sink, maybe.”

Steve and Danny looked at each other, and around the living room again, and Danny nodded.

“We’ll take it,” said Steve, offering the old man his hand to shake. There was a slight tremor, and his skin felt like onion skin, every knuckle a lump. Long past the age where he should be fixing sinks and replacing locks. His eyes were bright and intelligent, though.

“You serve?” he asked Steve.

“Navy,” Steve answered. “You?”

“Long, long time ago,” the man said, handing over the keys. “You bring check tomorrow.” He nodded and slipped out the door, and Danny put an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“Guess this is home, sweet home,” he said. “You think we’re ready for this?”

Danny pulled him down into a thorough kiss, arms around Steve’s neck, pressing against him from knee to chest.

“Yeah, babe,” he said. “We’re ready for this.”

That night they ate a picnic on the narrow balcony, swigging cheap champagne from the bottle, laughing quietly, and making plans. They slept on the floor and woke up regretting it.

But not all that much.


	15. Chapter 15

Exhausted and sore, Steve climbed onto a bus that would let him off only three blocks from the apartment. As much as he was looking forward to coaxing Danny into fucking him straight through the mattress, more than anything else he was looking forward to getting a decent night’s sleep for the first time since Danny had left, at 0500 Monday. He let himself into the bright apartment. The summer had just begun, and the air was warm and clean-smelling. He’d been on his feet for far too long. Cooking Danny a decent meal could wait until Saturday night; tonight they’d get a pizza or something and waste a few hours making out aimlessly on the couch.

The landlord had been right about the walls; the entire block was quiet. Too quiet, a lot of the time. With Danny gone, and knowing so few people in his summer classes, Steve was lonely. After years of sharing living quarters with a few hundred sailors, and the last year with Danny, the real world felt much too quiet. He played music incessantly. Barely owned any CDs of his own, but he was beginning to develop an appreciation for Bruce Springsteen. A little bit dramatic maybe but he had some good songs.

The apartment was immaculate when Danny let himself in, and Steve felt himself light up as soon as the key turned in the lock. Danny looked tired, but happy, as he dropped his duffel by the door and almost literally fell into Steve’s arms, holding tight.

“I know, I know,” he said. “You missed me, am I right? Place isn’t the same without me, I bet.”

“Well, it’s quiet, I can think straight, so it’s not so bad. Nice to get a break from your yapping mouth.”

“You say the most romantic things.”

“And, I can say them in four languages. Plus Pidgin.” He murmured an endearment in Danny’s ear, and Danny shivered. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” Danny said, already tugging at Steve’s shirt, and manhandling him towards the bedroom.

 

 

The routine barely wavered, week to week. Steve spent his weeknights studying, trying to wear himself out enough to sleep, and Danny came home Friday night for the weekend. They had lunch or dinner at Danny’s parents’ house on either Saturday or Sunday, but otherwise spent the weekends more or less naked and either eating or making up for lost time. Danny caught the first bus on Monday morning to the academy and the week started again. All through summer classes, and into the Fall semester, counting off Danny’s twenty-five weeks.

Two graduation ceremonies in a year, not a bad effort. And another celebration, even if Clara got terribly drunk and cried over the thought of bad guys shooting at her son.

“This time next year I’ll be graduating from the academy,” Steve soothed. “And then I’ll be watching his back, don’t you worry, Clara.”

“You should call me Mom,” Clara said, dabbing at her eyes with one of Ed’s handkerchiefs.

Steve kissed her cheek. No clue whether he could actually bring himself to do that, but he loved that she’d offered.

There were a few blissful days of not much at all before Christmas, which they spent at Danny’s parents’ place, of course, and up until New Year’s, which they spent alone, in bed, making plans and keeping each other on the very edge of orgasm until midnight.

And in the earliest minutes of the new year, they lay in each other’s arms, riding out the aftershocks.

“You got a resolution, babe?”

“You’re not supposed to tell, or they don’t come true,” Steve murmured into his neck.

“That’s _wishes_. Resolutions, you have to work for. You know. Like you might resolve to be much sweeter to me, bring me little gifts every day…”

Steve snorted. “I already spoil you. I blew you in the shower this morning.”

“Yes, you did, and it was very much appreciated.”

“Have you got a resolution, Danny?”

Danny rolled over in Steve’s arms until they were face to face, Danny looking sleepy and satisfied, and he leaned to kiss Steve’s jaw.

“More of this, babe. It’s been a year, you know, a year and a few days. I’m not sure I believed back then that we could make it this far. Don’t panic, Steven, we have, and we will, and I’m glad I slowed us down because it gave us time to be sure. And now, I’m sure, I’m sure and I think we’re gonna make it, you know? I know things are hard right now, but they won’t always be.”

“Yeah, Danny, I know.”

“So, my resolution is to make the most of the time we get to spend together.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop kvetching at me and promise to appreciate me properly?”

“Don’t say kvetch, Steven. You can’t pronounce it properly and you’re embarrassing yourself. So what’s your resolution, babe?”

Steve took a breath. He supposed he could piggyback his own resolution onto Danny’s, but that felt cheap.

“You know, I think I should keep things simple. I gotta pass the physical for the Academy by May or I’ll have to wait another year. You gonna help me get in shape, Danny?”

Danny snorted, and rolled over, settling between the V of Steve’s legs, hoisting his calves up over his thighs, and reaching for the lube.

“Do not call my dedication to your fitness into question, babe,” he said, wickedly, as he slicked his fingers. Just the sight of it had Steve halfway hard again. “When you don’t go to bed exhausted, I’ve failed in my duties as a boyfriend.”

 

 

Danny asked for written proof that Steve was allowed to run as much as he was. In the end, Steve got so frustrated that he had Tulip write him a note.

“This says, ‘ _Steve is completely unmanageable and getting along fine so I gave up trying to slow him down_ ’,” Danny said, waving it in Steve’s face. “Week after next, I’ll be allowed to arrest you.”

“Aw, c’mon, Danny. Look at me,” Steve said, standing on his own two feet, the hated crutches tucked away in the closet in case of emergency. “I feel fine, I’ve got most of the muscle tone back in my legs, and didn’t I completely nail you doggy-style last night without complaining about my knees a single time?”

“ _Nail_ me? You _nailed_ me?”

“I nailed you so good you were seeing stars,” Steve said, bracketing Danny against the pantry door and kissing him stupid.

“Shut up,” Danny said, trying to wriggle away. “Don’t try to sweet-talk me, you neanderthal, you’re no good at it.” But Steve’s mouth was on his neck, and he was already unzipping his jeans, so the argument had been more or less lost.

 

 

Danny’s partner was a woman named Grace Tilwell, who was so pretty Steve might have spiked a fever out of sheer terror and jealousy, if he wasn’t so utterly secure about the relationship. He managed to keep a lid on it when she shook his hand and said he must be the Steve Danny never shut up about.

“It’s all complaining, babe,” Danny assured him, gesticulating in a way that might have looked apologetic if his eyes hadn’t been sparkling so much. He bought a round of beers and they found a quiet corner in which to get thoroughly shit-faced and complain about how boring things were so far. But they were a step ahead of most of their peers, both college educated and on the fast track to taking their detective’s exams. Driving around the streets, responding to noise complaints and domestic disturbances was hopefully only going to last for a couple of years at the most. And it wasn’t all boring. Memorably, they’d arrived at a house the night before where the neighbors had called, afraid that the couple inside were trying to kill each other, when in fact, the boyfriend’s snake had escaped from her terrarium and they were trying to find it before it got into a fight with the cat.

Night shifts.

Steve hated them. He told himself every day that it was only a matter of time before they both had better command of their own schedules, and could coordinate things better; but getting home from classes only to find Danny on his way out the door was getting difficult. He found himself brooding, lonely, actually hoping someone would call with a complaint about a leaking tap or some painting that needed doing. He was sick of studying, sick of going to bed alone and leaving Danny behind in the mornings. Upping the exercise helped, but only so much.

He headed to the criminology wing of the social studies building to submit an assignment that was due in a couple of days, using the stairs for only the second time ever, and wasn’t entirely shocked to find Professor Finch once again holding court in the corridor.

“Mr. McGarrett,” he said, shaking Steve’s hand. “It’s been a while since we caught up one on one — you got time for a cup of coffee?”

Steve nodded. “Please, call me Steve. And yeah, I got a little time.”

They headed to Professor Finch’s office once again, and once again, Steve poured the coffee, before sitting down, carefully placing it on a leather coaster rather than the expensive-looking wood desk.

“I spoke to Joe White a few months back.”

Steve nodded.

“He told me you’d decided against going back to the Navy.”

“Yes sir,” Steve said. “Being away for a while, I learned a lot about myself. And I realized I like having a home base, and I have a lot to offer New Jersey PD.”

“Agreed. You’ll be a credit to the Department.”

“Thank you, sir. And I have someone in my life I’m not prepared to leave too, so. In the end it wasn’t as difficult a decision to make as I thought it might be.”

“And your health?”

“Better than required. I’m getting close to my pre-accident fitness. Might be a while yet before the stamina is there too, but I’m exceeding Department requirements, so I shouldn’t have any trouble getting into the academy.”

“The academy will be a cakewalk for you, son. And I’d like to write you a recommendation.”

“Thank you.”

“And the future? You’ll have to do your time as a beat cop, but in the long term — you’re cut out for something better. I know Danny Williams has already attracted the right kind of attention.”

Steve smiled proudly. He had no idea whether Finch knew they were a couple, but he wasn’t going to pretend anything for anyone’s sake, he’d already made that decision.

“He’s an impressive kind of guy. There’s no other reason I’d consent to put down roots somewhere with weather this bad. But I don’t think I’d make much of a detective. I have the Navy background, I have a lot of ordinance training under my belt —”

“And you’re a bit of cowboy, even if you do have those impeccable Navy manners. SWAT?”

“Maybe, yeah. Long-term, maybe the FBI — I have languages, you know.”

Finch crossed his arms on the table. “You’ve come a long way, Steve. Between you and me — you and Danny are two of the finest students I’ve ever had the privilege to teach. I’m glad you’ve decided to go this route.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve said, absently rubbing his knee — the left one creaked obnoxiously, some days. “Thank you. It means a lot. And thank you for the recommendation.”

That sat in silence for a long moment.

“Joe said you haven’t spoken in a while.”

Steve nodded. “We’ve both been busy. It happens, you know, it’s alright.” It didn’t happen, much, actually; until his accident, Steve had rarely gone a week without seeing Joe, and the absence of a father figure — perhaps more than the absence of his actual father — had weighed heavily on him. Their last conversation hadn’t exactly been pleasant. It had been over a year.

“He said he had some regrets about the way he handled things.”

Steve nodded tersely. “It’s fine. I’ll call him.”

“You do that. Navy or not, I know he cares about you, and I believe you care about him, as well.”

“I do. Very much.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got things to do. And I’m working on the final exam, so — I don’t need the prying eyes of a very observant student in my office while I do it. Good luck with the rest of the term, Steve.”

“I prefer to get by on hard work, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

He stood up and shook Professor Finch’s hand before taking his leave.

 

 

There were not a lot of weekends where Danny didn’t have to work at all, and when one cropped up, he and Steve always made the most of it. Steve was back to running early in the morning, which Danny said was unnatural and a deal breaker, but he seemed to appreciate the way Steve came back to shower and crawl back into bed, to sleep a little more or fool around or talk.

Apparently, today it was about talking.

“You know you’re graduating in a month,” Danny said, weaving their fingers together.

“I do. I’m excited, you know, silly hat and everything.”

“My parents want to have a party for you.”

“Of course they do. Uh, if you have any say in it, can you please convince them that I’d like just a family dinner? Maybe at Vito’s, so there’s no arguing about cooking? The last thing I want is to make it into some huge deal. Especially since they did it twice last year.”

“Steven, Steven, Steven,” Danny started.

“ _Daniel, Daniel, Daniel_. Please would you try to do that? Please, for me? Just something small, just a regular dinner, maybe a little champagne.”

“Babe I know you had a tiny family and it got busted up way too early, but my family is now your family, and it’s big. And see, the thing about a big family full of people who actually like to be around each other is that they will use any excuse for a party. So no, I don’t have any more of a say in it than you do, and this would be a good time to accept that you are no less a part of this huge, Italian-Jewish-Irish tangle of a family tree than I am. Okay? I am telling you this because Ma wants to know if you are planning to invite your dad or your sister, your aunt. Even Joe. I know things are complicated there but he’s been your family for a long time, and I know you’d like him there.”

Steve sincerely wished he hadn’t gone out for his run already, because he would have done almost anything to get out of discussing this. He lay his head on Danny’s chest and draped an arm across his waist, the flesh warm and hard beneath his touch, that glorious pelt soft and lovely.

Steve hadn’t felt like a part of his own family for years, and he still burned with pain when he remembered his own father booting him off Oahu two Christmases ago.

“I’ll ask Mary,” he said. “She probably won’t come, but I’ll ask her.”

“Okay, that sounds good. And what about your dad?”

“Don’t, Danny. He wants nothing to do with me. I’m not asking him to come just for him to say no. Joe — maybe, I’ll ask, but Dad and I… I don’t see how we can ever get back to a normal father-son relationship, and I’m not gonna attempt that in front of the Moretti-Williams clan, no matter how much you make your voice all rumbly like that and call me babe.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I said okay. Now I’m going to get up and make us breakfast and after that we’re coming back to bed so I can fuck your brains out.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Steve lifted his head and grinned, and Danny kissed him. “Very, very okay.”

 

 

It still took a couple of days before Steve could bring himself to call Aunt Deb and talk to her about graduation, but she was no less happy to hear from him than she had been when he was a nervous teenager, homesick and grieving for his family. He was reminded again of the way she’d turned down a record deal and a tour to take Mary in, and had never wavered for a moment in believing she’d done the right thing; she did mention, however, that now that Mary was an adult (debatable, but okay, fine) she was doing a little singing again.

“I am so proud of you,” she said. “Oh, we’ll be there.”

“I was gonna ask you for Mare’s new number,” Steve admitted, sheepishly. “I don’t have it.”

“She’s living with me for a while,” Deb said, and something about her tone chilled Steve to the bone. “She’s doing alright, Steve. Sober thirty days tomorrow, but she doesn’t trust herself to live with friends right now. We’re getting by just fine. And she’s working. So don’t start your worrying now.”

Steve was constitutionally incapable of not worrying, but given that Deb was much better equipped to handle his sister than he was, he settled for a quiet thank you instead. He scratched the back of his neck.

“Aunt Deb, there’s something you should know before you’re sure,” he said, suddenly nervous, dropping onto the couch. “Look, I, uh — there’s gonna be a party.”

“Fantastic, I’ll make sure and pack my dancing shoes, then,” she said.

“Well, it’s —” And Aunt Deb was a creative type, living in Los Angeles, probably had a million gay friends, but the last time Deb had seen Steve he’d been wearing Navy blues, and this might be a shock. “I’m seeing someone, have been for quite a while now, and…” Steve faltered, and closed his eyes. “ And his family, _Danny’s_ family, are throwing the party.”

“Well, that’s fantastic,” she said, without skipping a beat. “Means I get to meet everyone. Now talk to me about the weather and the date while I fetch my planner. I’ll book tickets for Mare and me tonight. I’m so excited. I’d love to bring a gift — is there something you’d particularly like?”

Steve felt a lump rise in his throat.

“You just gave me exactly what I want, Deb,” he said, pressing the heel of his hand against his eye socket. “Thank you. Now, weather…”

And maybe it made him a coward. But the next day, when he called Joe to smooth things over and catch him up on things, he didn’t mention graduation at all.

 

 

Which was why it was a shock when the ceremony ended and Steve found Joe waiting under a tree with Mary and Deb. There were hugs all around, and Deb squeezed Danny so tight she almost collapsed his lung, thanking him for looking out for Steve.

“Someone has to do it, he’s an animal. An animal. Someone needs to make sure he doesn’t do anything death-defyingly stupid on a daily basis, and I’m armed, so it makes sense.” But he was beaming, and turning to Mary to have the stuffing squeezed right out of him a second time.

Mary looked a little rough around the edges, but her eyes were clear. She was frighteningly thin, but Steve ignored the angles of her bones as he held her tightly.

He offered Joe a hand to shake, suddenly embarrassed he hadn’t invited the man, but Joe hugged him as well.

“Proud of you, son.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment. This was all he needed. The temptation to ask if John even knew he was graduating today was strong, but he resisted. Joe shook Danny’s hand, and congratulated him on the reputation he was rapidly earning at Jersey PD (which had to mean that Professor Finch had called Joe about the graduation ceremony) and Steve beamed with pride when Danny didn’t brush off the compliment, just thanked him.

The party was as big as Steve had dreaded, but he found himself enjoying it; Deb got along exceedingly well with everyone (Uncle Vito looked like he was about ready to put a ring on it, which was concerning). Somehow, without needing to be asked, everyone was very gentle with Mary, who looked like she appreciated it. She sipped soda all afternoon and all night, trying not to look with longing at the alcohol everyone else was drinking; alcohol wasn’t Mary’s problem, but she knew that if she let herself get drunk right now, in a few hours she’d be telling herself it was okay to go out and score some coke, as long as she only used a little. A little would become a lot. And then she’d be back to where she’d been seven weeks ago. So Steve kept an eye on her, and managed to carve out some good time to spend together, despite the crowd. He swore to himself that he’d talk to her at least once a week for the rest of their lives.

Steve also got a chance to meet a little more of the Williams clan, and he was touched by the fact that they’d come from Boston. The idea of a free meal at Vito’s restaurant was probably a bigger draw than Steve was, but he was happy to meet the boisterous cousins, especially the boxers. He was especially pleased to note that while Danny was the anomalous shorty in a double-sized family of people closer to Steve’s height, they both deferred to Danny’s skills with his fists, in a way that suggested that when they tried to argue, they ended up with their faces pressed into the concrete of a department store car park at eleven o’clock at night.

“It’s so weird, right?” Mary said, tucked up under Steve’s arm, watching Danny argue with one of the Boston uncles over a baseball player Steve neither knew nor cared about. He was getting animated; the Moretti-Williams approach to bonding was arguing at the top of their lungs and then telling each other they loved each other.

“I don’t know,” Steve answered.

“No, you don’t get me. It’s weird, this whole huge family vibe. Like, they all know each other, really well. And they seem to like each other, like spending time with each other.”

“I know what you meant, Mare. And like I said, I don’t know. I think Danny’s family is closer than the average, sure, yeah, okay, but then I also think our experience of family was… not normal. Weirder than this.”

“You’re still angry,” she said, sadly.

“I’m not. I’m just done with him. I don’t need him in my life.”

“He told me a couple of years ago that we weren’t safe in Hawaii.”

“Yeah, he told me that, too. His son, who was in the Navy at the time. I told him if Hawaii wasn’t safe I wanted to help him deal with whatever was happening, and he told me he didn’t want me there. So, yeah, I’m finished with all of that.” He looked up to find Danny and Aunt Deb arguing (she fit in this family altogether too well), probably about Frank Sinatra, by the gesticulating. Danny had a glass of wine in his hand but Deb had long since switched to soda.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tucking into his side. Her hair, which was currently its natural soft brown color (though admittedly, it was more likely she had dyed it back to her natural color than it was currently uncolored, knowing Mary), tickled his nose, and Steve kissed her temple.

“You really love him, huh,” she said.

“I really love him. I love him so much I’m glad I broke my legs, because it was worth all that to have him in my life. Crazy, right?”

“So you’re like bi now?”

Steve tensed. “No, Mare. I don’t think so.”

“Dannysexual.”

“Pretty much. But I mean, not that it’s like I have to register somewhere to make it official, but the truth is I don’t think I was ever really that attracted to women. It was just what you were supposed to do, and I did it. I’m happy to call myself gay.”

“If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Steve felt something warm spread down his spine.

“And you’re really gonna be a cop? Dad was dead-set against that, you know,” she said.

“He doesn’t get a say.”

Mary sat up slightly, eyes still on Steve’s diminutive and highly animated partner.

“God, he talks with his hands a lot.”

Steve pictured those same hands mapping out his skin, bringing him over the edge, touching him in places Steve had never known he loved; he pictured those hands held in his own, those hands soothing a distressed little kid, or the victim of a violent crime. Yes, he talked with his hands. Loudly, quietly, every volume in between.

“It’s sort of hilarious. He’s hot, though. He’s like the shape of a dorito.”

“Mare.”

“Bet he looks nice naked.”

“Mary!”

“What? I can’t live vicariously through you? Recovery means no relationships for like, a year or two. I’m not allowed to sleep with anything that’s not battery-powered.”

“Oh, my _god_ , Mary Ann McGarrett. Too much information.”

“Just breathe. Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m proud of you.”

She rested her head back on Steve’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, too.”

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning; this chapter deals with the events of 9/11, especially the canon events that Danny went through, and the fallout from that. Please make good choices for yourself when deciding whether to read this chapter or not. Feel free to message me on tumblr if you'd prefer just a summary of the outcomes for the boys.

The air was thick with dust and smoke and the sheer impossibility of what had just happened.

“McGarrett,” said one of his training officers, who’d been on the bus. “You’ve got more experience than anyone else here. I want you to take Murphy and half the recruits and lead them. There’s just no time for arguing about seniority. I know you’re capable. Just do what needs doing, take your cues from the fire department, and… and do your best,” he said, looking at the massive pile of rubble that was once the twin towers.

Steve had felt utterly numb from the moment he’d seen the images on the television, just after 0900, on his way to the shooting gallery. He’d stood staring, mouth gaping, and been only vaguely aware of the way his fellow students had all pressed in close, reaching for each other’s hands and preparing for what was bound to happen next.

The announcement over the loudspeaker had been so quick that Steve felt sure they couldn’t even have started talking to NYPD. Everyone had suited up and started heading for the buses that were congregating in the parking lot, talking in low whispers, trying to reach people on the mobile phones they’d all collected from their rooms, or just sitting silent and shellshocked on the bench seats.

But even the images on the television hadn’t prepared them for this.

Steve couldn’t get hold of Danny. His phone was going straight to voicemail, and it seemed pretty likely that he was doing the exact same thing Steve was, and just unable to answer it.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “Alright, follow me. I don’t care how bad this looks, there are people still alive under this rubble and we’re going to find them. We’re taking cues from NYFD. Whatever you’re thinking, whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay, it’s normal, but you put it aside right now and we’re gonna do what we have to do.”

It was a grueling day. Steve was grateful for the way he found himself becoming numb in no time at all, only able to focus on what needed to be done, working on adrenaline and discipline as they worked alongside cops, firefighters and about a fuckton of people who were just there to try to help. He didn’t remember the taste of the pizza he ate when hunger got the better of him, but he remembered the expressions on the faces of the guys who showed up with thirty or forty pies just to keep everyone going, the bottles of water which eased the burn in his throat.

“I’ve got something!” someone would call, and they’d focus their efforts. Sometimes, what they had was a body. Sometimes, it was someone who clung to them, and thanked them, or someone who was unconscious but still had a chance of making it, and Steve was almost glad he would never know the outcomes because he needed to believe they were all going to survive. Each person they pulled from the wreckage alive brought a brief round of applause, but even as Steve helped to load them onto stretchers to be sent out to the already over-crowded hospitals he knew they weren’t all going to make it. He refused to let himself think about that, too much, either. More than anything, he didn’t let himself think about the number of times they thought they’d found someone, only to discover it was just an arm or a leg.

Danny didn’t call.

Steve had no idea what Danny had been working on, where he might be. He’d left early in the morning the day before, cycling to the academy while Danny slept. He refused to let himself wonder if the last time he would ever see Danny would be looking at his sleeping, vaguely disgruntled face at four in the morning, but was glad he’d kissed Danny’s forehead. He had no reason to be in New York… probably.

 _But_.

It was sickening, it was painful, it was impossible to believe. And Steve felt a spike of panicked gratefulness that he’d chosen to be here, so he could help, instead of overseas somewhere.

Floodlights made the work easier as the night fell, but it fell too soon. No one left, even those who’d been told to; they worked long past the point of exhaustion, spurred on every time a pocket of space was discovered, every time there was a moan or a cry of pain. They took turns getting some sleep wherever they landed and then returned to the front lines.

“We’ve got a couple of buses to take people home,” Steve’s training officer said, well after midnight.

“Not going anywhere,” Steve answered. “We can’t, sir. We can’t. I’ll get a little shuteye, but the longer people are under there, the less likely they are to make it out, and —”

“Steve, we’re gonna be back in a few hours. We need people to get some real sleep, and there are cops and… everyone else pouring in from all parts of the country. This is no sprint. This is a _marathon_. Classes are suspended for the foreseeable future and you’re gonna be right here, doing whatever you have to. So, we’re both getting on that goddamn bus, going home, getting some rest. And we’ll be back here in a few hours.”

Steve stopped resisting. He’d already learned to function on very little sleep, but more than anything else, he needed to see Danny, and since when Steve’s phone battery had died Danny’s was still going straight to voicemail, going home seemed like the best way to make contact.

If Danny wasn’t there, Steve could at least leave a note.

 

 

Danny was there.

 

 

In Steve’s entire life, he’d never felt such an urgency to hold someone close, and it seemed that Danny felt the same way. They were both filthy, and though they didn’t speak for a long time, they scrubbed each other clean in the shower, examining minor injuries and reveling in the fact that they were both still alive.

“Grace is dead,” Danny said, when they were finally stretched out in bed, bodies pressing close, holding eye contact.

“What?”

Steve pushed himself up on one elbow.

“We were investigating a witness statement in Elizabeth. I… she’s dead, Steve, and… I had to leave her there, for _hours_ , because I had to get to the city, and no one was responding to calls, and… she was dead. And alone. For hours, Steve. Can you believe I…”

Steve pulled him close, his gut turning at the thought of what Danny had been through, and already grieving Danny’s vivacious partner.

“What am I gonna tell her parents?”

Steve held him tight, and scratched through his hair.

“I don’t know.”

“And I killed three people today.”

Danny dissolved into tears. He had a temper, and a tendency toward pessimism that Steve still hadn’t cured him of, but despite describing himself quite cheerfully as a misanthrope, Danny cared. He cared about people. He’d trained knowing full well that he might have to kill someone one day, but the wracking sobs said he’d been far from ready.

Only a handful of months ago, Steve’s only concerns had been his grades, his legs, his fractured family. People had told Steve for his entire life that he was mature for his age (Steve wasn’t sure that was true, thought maybe they mistook rote politeness as maturity). But this — this was the moment when he grew up. Abruptly. And with the pain of knowing that all over the city, all over the country, other people were growing up, too. Other people were suddenly seeing the world differently. That there were children who were learning at this very second that the world wasn’t the safe place their parents had sold them. This would be the defining moment for a generation.

Steve had no doubt that the guys he’d trained with, many of whom he considered family, were probably on their way to the Middle East that moment.

“Talk to me,” Steve said. “Get it out. You know you won’t be able to sleep until you do.”

Danny told him the story, in halting terms, laboring in his mistakes as he was wont to do, and probably downplaying every heroic act he’d committed. And Steve was grateful beyond the telling of it, grateful beyond anything he would ever be able to admit out loud — grateful, yes, _grateful_ , no matter how awful it made him, that Grace had died and not Danny.

By the time Danny was done, he was beyond tired, his speech slightly slurred. “Bet there’s a part of you that wants to be on the first flight to Afghanistan or Saudi Arabia or something and kick some ass,” he said. He was trying to sound casual; he sounded anything but. He sounded like he thought Steve might be ready to sign up. Head for the nearest recruitment center and sign on for another tour or two.

“Naw, Danny. I wanna stay here, and save some lives, and hold you in my arms. Help put the city back together, whatever way I can. I’m not sure waging war is the answer to a problem like this, and I don’t think I can get behind it.”

Their lips met. It was one of the most chaste kisses they’d ever shared. Steve realized he was horny as hell, in the way so many people were after a funeral; the need to celebrate life, to seize it, it was a thing, it was very real. But he was exhausted, and Danny was exhausted, and this was only the end of day one. There would be many more days to come.

“One day, Danny, maybe we’ll have a little girl. And if we do, we’ll call her Grace.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Danny smiled, a little, but there wasn’t a lot of happiness behind it.

Steve let his eyes drift closed for a few hours of sleep, with his arms wrapped tight around Danny’s body, willing the nightmares away.

 

 

It felt as if the whole world was on hold. For weeks, for months. Even after rescue efforts stopped, the evidence-gathering continued for months, and half of Jersey PD was delegated to New York for a while, including Danny. He and Steve barely laid eyes on each other, but when they were together, they made the most of it. There were far too many funerals, Grace’s by far the worst. Eddie Williams buried three friends. Rescuers got sick. Troops were deployed.

The war began, and showed no signs of ending.

And Danny started having nightmares.

It would have been one thing, if he had a nightmare, rolled over and went back to sleep. If he’d let Steve comfort him in some way. But he always shrugged it off, and usually left the bed, stretching out on the couch to watch shitty television until he nodded off again, for a while.

It was killing Steve. He didn’t sleep well without Danny anyway, and the noise of the television set was making it even harder. Three nights a week, he was spending at home, that was all. And he couldn’t remember waking up up with Danny in his arms since that fateful Tuesday.

“We need to talk about this,” he said quietly, one Saturday morning, over breakfast. Danny had rings under his eyes so big he looked like he’d been punched in the face. Steve was pretty sure he was only getting three, four hours of sleep a night, and it was doing absolutely nothing for his mood.

Nor was the obsessive way he was reading the paper, and watching the news.

“We really don’t,” Danny said, and kissed him on the cheek, grabbing his badge and his gun and slipping his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “See you later, babe.”

Steve buried his face in his hands, and wished he had any idea what to do.

 

 

Convincing Danny to go out for a meal that night wasn’t easy. It was impossible to pinpoint Danny’s mood; on the one hand, he was clingy, which Steve loved. On the other hand, he had the habit, lately, of avoiding eye contact, and getting lost in his own head. Steve tried to take it in his stride, slung his arm over Danny’s shoulder or let Danny tuck his hand into Steve’s elbow, but it didn’t seem to change how distant he felt.

Money was always an issue. So they headed to bar they’d eaten in before, cheap and cheerful (not that it was easy to be cheerful on those days; New Yorkers and Jerseyites alike seemed to find themselves talking about the towers every time they assembled. Which might have been why Danny was rambling louder than usual about all kinds of ridiculous crap.

“You wanna slow down there, Daniel?” Steve asked, when Danny drained yet another bottle of beer and waved a bartender down for another. He tried to make it sound like a joke, but he failed.

“Not really, Steven, no,” Danny replied, grinning. Drunk. Steve eyed his watch. It was probably too early to convince Danny to head home, but if he kept drinking at the rate he was, he was going to be regretting it for about three days. Steve picked at the chips on his plate and glanced at the television screen. There was a game on, but like all of the time, these days, there was a news ticker on the bottom of the display.

“Oh, you spend too much time with ma,” Danny said, shaking a chip at Steve. “You think I don’t recognize a bad imitation of the patented Clara Williams look of concern and disappointment?”

“Concern,” Steve agreed quietly. With a nod. “Not disappointment. I couldn’t be disappointed with you. I just wish you’d let me in, Danny.”

“Let you in? _Let you in_? I should never have taught you to talk about your feelings.”

“I kind of like it,” Steve mumbled. Danny right now reminded him too much of his haunted father, falling asleep with a bottle of whiskey still in his hand, in those weeks after his mother had died.

“Well, I don’t. The time-honored tradition of men being men and bottling things up is one I’ve embraced.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, and counted out a few bills with an unsteady hand. “Let’s go home. You can raw me, that should cheer us both up.”

It wouldn’t, actually, but Steve would settle for convincing Danny to actually sleep in their bed for the whole night for the first time in weeks. Maybe if he was drunk, he’d stay put.

They weren’t far from home, so they walked, Steve supporting Danny’s weight when he’d let him, wishing he would open his mouth and start one of those wonderful rants he was famous for. But Danny was irritated and sullen, alternately pulling away and grabbing at Steve’s arm. They reached a crosswalk, and he stepped out.

The screaming of a car horn was going to haunt Steve’s dreams for decades, but not as badly as the expression on Danny’s face when Steve pulled him off the road.

“Asshole!” Danny shouted after the car, long gone, trying to pull out of Steve’s firm grasp. “Asshole! This is a crosswalk, you _asshole_!”

Not up to Danny’s usual caliber of insults, Steve would think later, but at that moment, all he could do was hold Danny back and try not to think about how few inches the car had missed by. Danny tried to pull away, but the car was already blocks away, and the driver had probably forgotten this had happened the moment Danny was gone from the rear view mirror.

“Danny,” Steve begged, trying to keep him on the sidewalk. “Danny, please — he’s gone, Danny. Talk to me. You’re killing me, here. I don’t know how to talk to you, and I always know how to talk to you.” He dragged Danny a few feet further and almost forced him onto a bench by a bus stop, crouching in front of him, pushing Danny’s disheveled hair out of his face. Danny was shaking, though not as badly as Steve was. “Please. Talk to me.” Tears burned Steve’s eyes.

Danny muttered something unintelligible.

“Say again?”

“Borrowed time,” Danny snapped. “I’m living on borrowed time.”

Steve couldn’t process it, not a syllable.

“Okay,” he said, cautiously. “Can you maybe elaborate on that a little bit, please?”

“That morning.” No need to ask what morning. Danny sometimes said Grace’s name in his sleep. “That morning. I nearly died. We were both tied to chairs. They were torturing me. And when they realized it wasn’t gonna work they shot Grace, instead, and I… she was so brave, Steve, she was so brave, such a good person and I don’t even know if I ever told her that, you know? And they asked if anyone knew we were there, and I…”

Steve sat on the bench and let Danny curl against his side. This was nothing new, but it was the first time he’d talked about itsince that night, and in the intervening time the story had fermented, filling Danny’s head with a painful buzz.

“And I told them the whole of Newark PD was on their way. And they were about to shoot me, and…”

Steve nodded.

“And then the sirens.”

“And then the sirens. And I used that moment of distraction to get away, and I killed them all, which is the only good thing that happened that day and also the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s not —”

“It is. And Steve, if those thousands of people hadn’t died, I would have. And don’t you dare tell me to be rational about it, I left rationality behind weeks ago. Rationality and I are not on speaking terms. This is the post-9/11 world. Rationality plays absolutely no part.”

Steve pulled him in tight, and Danny resisted, but not for very long. Steve felt a warm damp spot on his shoulder where Danny’s silent tears were soaking in. He scratched through Danny’s hair gently.

“We talk about kids, sometimes,” Danny said, sitting up again, not even bothering to wipe the dampness from his face. “But this isn’t the world you and I were born into. This world is so much more dangerous. I was wrong, you know, a long time ago, that the world was a cesspit. I didn’t know what a cesspit looked like until recently. Now, now it’s… and I’m alive because thousands of people are dead. And I’m living on borrowed time. I have to pay for that time. I don’t know how. But I’m not doing enough.”

“You do more than most.”

“And I keep dreaming you’re gonna sign back up. You’re gonna sign back up and one day they’re gonna knock on my door or show up at the precinct and tell me you didn’t make it, though they’ll never tell me how. And the worst thing about that is that I wouldn’t even resent it, because at least I’d know you were doing more than I am. I’d just be heartbroken.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Danny. I’m staying right here with you, keeping people safe on our soil, do you understand me? You wanna do more, we’ll do more.”

Steve let Danny slump agains him, again, with absolutely no idea what to do and a powerful desire to call Louisa. She was always so good at this stuff.

“And I want kids one day, Danny, so if it helps, think about everything we do as being preparations for keeping our family safe.”

Danny was still for a long time, and then wrapped his arms loosely around Steve’s waist. “I miss you,” he said. “I miss me. I miss _us_. My head’s a fucking mess, Steve. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Seems like it might be a good idea to talk to someone about it. If not me… the department shrink…”

“And get diagnosed with PTSD and stuck on desk duty at a time like this? No way, José. I’ll figure it out. I just need to do more. I don’t know what. Just more.”

 

 

Over the next few weeks, ‘more’ became spending time with disenfranchised kids at risk of radicalization, and burning the midnight oil reading intelligence reports, talking through them with Steve on the weekends to look for patterns other people might have missed. Sleeping at least five hours a night, and even staying with Steve, sometimes, after he’d woken up and when Steve was at home.

Depression turned back into grief, and Danny seemed to improve. The insomnia never cleared up, but it was better than it had been. Anyway, Danny had never been much of a sleeper.

 

 

Steve aced his way through SWAT Academy, and hit his element. The freshest cop to be accepted into the crew in a decade. He spent a hell of a lot of time training in a way that reminded him of BUD/s, but without so much attempted drowning, repeatedly broke records in sharpshooting and, along with Danny, working an entirely different angle, managed to be part of three different joint operations dismantling terrorist cells. And he was right. It felt a hell of a lot better than heading off to Afghanistan where it felt like everyone was the enemy, when in fact, most were just trying to live their lives.

He got home early one Saturday morning in 2004 after a grueling night involving a house full of teenage kids at a slumber party-turned-hostage situation, which had started when an associate of one of the girls’ fathers had show up looking to kidnap her for a payday. He was exhausted, needed to debrief and sleep, but found Danny pacing in the kitchen with a look that said he’d slept about six minutes in the last twenty-four hours.

“Danny,” Steve said. “Talk to me. Please, I really need you today. Talk to me.”

“I’m applying to Quantico,” Danny said, flatly. “If that’s alright with you.”

Steve nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do that.”

Danny blinked at him.

“Where you go, I go, Danny. You apply to Quantico, I apply to Quantico. They’d be nuts not to take us. Look at our experience, between us. Anyway, I hear Virginia’s nice. Could be fun.”

Danny swallowed hard, with his eyes rimmed in red, as Steve stepped closer, and held him tight.

“I love you,” Danny said, muffled by Steve’s t-shirt.

“I love you, too, Danny.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

“Oh, god,” Steve said, pulling the front door closed. “Oh, fuck, Danny, I am so glad to see you. Shit.”

Danny rolled over on the couch and opened his arms, and Steve draped himself over his body.

“That was so fucked up,” he said, flatly.

“Oh, you mean your three day trip that turned into sixteen days? Yeah, it was shit. Tell me it was productive, too, or we’re retiring tomorrow. And ask me how my week went, while you’re at it, because all week now you haven’t answered your phone.”

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled against Danny’s stomach. He reached for his hand, lifting his head. “You busted your knuckles.”

“Yes, I busted my knuckles, but I also took two of the guy’s teeth out. Babe. _Babe_. I fucking missed you, you know that, right?”

“Not as much as I missed you.”

He stilled, focusing on the sensation of Danny’s hands, touching him, scratching his skin, relaxing beneath him.

“I wish we were partners.”

Danny snickered. “Uh, babe. In a few months we’ll have been partners for ten years, what are you talking about. Breathe or something.”

Steve pushed himself up on his elbow and Danny kissed him.

There was no way to describe what these casual kisses did to Steve. Not like one of the searing kisses that meant he was about to be on his way to bed, with Danny’s bare flesh under his hands, or spread across his body; these small, domestic kisses, these reconnections, these seemingly unimportant moments that carried the weight of almost ten years of respect and affection and a comfort which had started out feeling almost threatening and become the most precious thing Steve had.

“No, I mean. Partners. At work. I hate traveling without you. I hate it. I hate being without you.”

He sat up, and Danny let him find a comfortable place to sit.

“Danny…”

“Steve,” Danny replied. “You need to stop right there. I know that face.”

Steve slumped, opening his eyes wider.

“We both travel too much. Babe, it’s not about having a kid. It’s not even about having a kid when we both have jobs this dangerous, because let’s face it, we’ve defied death for this long and we can keep that up. No. It’s about having a kid and never being home. I love you, yes, I want a family, yes, I want a McWilliams kid, although I’m honestly always thinking of your genes more than mine —”

“Danny.”

“— I digress.”

“Constantly.”

“My point is, we are both away from home too much, and it wouldn’t be fair. That’s not how you raise a kid.”

Steve relaxed against Danny’s body again. This was well-covered ground. It hurt bitterly to think that if they’d stayed with NJPD they’d probably be parents by now, but apparently, it was not to be.

“I know,” he mumbled against Danny’s stomach. Danny petted his hair. “I just.”

There was a long silence. “That sentence was missing a subject, an object, and a lot of punctuation,” Danny warned.

“I love your family,” Steve said.

“But?”

“No.” Steve sat up again, and headed to the kitchen, fetching a bottle of bourbon and a couple of glasses. “There’s no ‘but’, Danny. I love your family, I fucking… I love your family, _our_ family, and I want to bring a kid into that. But I have no idea how to do it. I want to see Clara holding our kid. Fuck, you know, I still think of Bridget as a kid, and she’s got two of her own, now, and…”

Danny said nothing, but nodded.

“No, I hear you, babe, I hear you, I do, I just, you know. We can’t be good parents unless we change our life, and I don’t know what that would look like. We could try to transfer back to Jersey PD, maybe.”

Steve’s face was a storm cloud.

“No. No, babe, oh my god, Steve. Fucking take that look off your face, alright, there’s nothing I want more than to have a kid with you, okay, I would love that, and you know it’s true. I want that. But I don’t want any kid to grow up not knowing what their parents look like.”

Danny had a lot more experience being a son than Steve did; the advice sounded pretty legitimate.

“Can we maybe go to bed?” Steve said, trying to change the subject, and also anticipating a really thorough fucking.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Danny replied, as Steve crawled across his body.

 

 

Steve took a shower; there was nothing appealing about the musk of a man who’d been stuck in a plane for six hours wearing the same clothes he’d chased a suspect down immediately before that. It was one of Steve’s favorite things about this house, the shower. The water pressure was so much higher than it had been in their apartment, and he leaned against the tiles, letting the jets ease the ache in his shoulders.

“Mind if I join you?” Danny asked, but since he was already naked and opening the shower door, Steve didn’t bother to answer, just gave him a tired smile and looped an arm around his neck to pull him close.

“Are you checking me for injuries, Danny?”

“No,” Danny lied, palpating the bruise on Steve’s chest, probably checking for a break.

“Well that’s good then. I had something a little less clinical in mind.” He crowded Danny against the cold tiles, and Danny’s breath hitched, even as he grinned delightedly.

“We’re not having sex in the shower. The last time we had sex in the shower I was back on my walking stick for six weeks.”

“This is foreplay,” Steve said, wrapping his arm around Danny’s waist and leaning to nuzzle into his throat. He smelled so good, so familiar, so much like himself; the cologne he’d taken wearing most days for the last few years lingered on his skin, and his hair still held traces of the morning’s shampoo, clean and fruity. Steve reveled in the closeness, and the hungry way Danny nudged Steve’s mouth open to deepen their kiss, murmuring as if he wanted to kiss but had missed talking to Steve. It never changed; Danny wanted to tell Steve things, and Steve wanted to listen, and he knew full well that when Danny was really building himself up to a full-blown rant Steve’s sappy neanderthal face gave away that it was his favorite sound in the world (quite possibly, he’d learned over the years the best methods for prodding Danny along, provoking him just enough).

“I think we’re clean enough,” Steve growled.

“Yeah, babe? You got plans?”

“I got plans, Danny. Fuck, I want you to fuck me, I’ve been thinking about it all week. You don’t have to work tomorrow right? We can just lie around all day? Turn off our phones?”

“Yeah, babe. We can do that.”

They kissed again, deeply, thoroughly, Danny biting down roughly on Steve’s bottom lip until he groaned, and turned the shower off.

They were still damp a couple of minutes later when Danny tossed Steve down onto the bed and pressed down against him, straddling his hips until they were rutting together, diamond hard and aching. Steve stretched his neck to give Danny better access, and Danny scraped his teeth across Steve’s throat, making him moan.

They’d learned so much about each other, in ten years. They knew each other’s shorthand, the tiny twitches and gestures that meant ‘kiss me here’ or ‘remember that thing you did that time? Do that again’ or meant, like right now, that Danny was about to roll them both over so Steve could pin him to the mattress.

As well as they knew each other’s bodies, every freckle and mole and scar, Steve had never come to take any of it for granted. He loved Danny’s weight on him. He loved the weight of their lives. He loved the way right now Danny was a squirming mess, fucking up into Steve’s hand and rolling his head back, exposing his throat.

“Oh, fuck. Babe, babe, you have to stop. I’m not twenty-three anymore, please try to remember that. If I come right now your ass is gonna have to wait until morning.” Steve closed his fingers tight around the base of Danny’s cock, and Danny groaned. “I don’t think that was what I was asking for.”

“But it worked, right?” Steve lowered his face to Danny’s stomach and mouthed at the warm skin. Danny was at half-mast, now, but he wouldn’t be for long. “I still don’t sleep so good when you’re not with me, Danny.”

“Yeah, I know. Me too. We need to stay off the road for a while.”

Steve rolled them again, until he was on his back, hooking a leg over Danny’s shoulder optimistically, while Danny grabbed the lube off the dresser. “You look so pretty laid out for me like this, Steven, you know that? Your eyelashes are an inch long.”

Steve grinned at him. “I’m glad I’m holding my own against NJPD’s Mr April 2003.”

“Oh, you shut up about that.” Steve gasped, as Danny slipped a finger inside him. As familiar as it was fresh, every time, the rhythm they both knew so well.

“Thought the reason we bought a house was because you liked me loud in bed.”

“I thought it was because we’re respectable adults.” Danny slipped a second finger inside Steve and Steve cried out, trying to keep his hips still as Danny found his prostate, and failing about as miserably as he ever did. “I don’t know. Maybe I miss covering your mouth while we fuck. You know your eyes used to get so big and dark.”

Danny’s hand was on Steve’s cock, now, and it was difficult to choose whether to fuck up into Danny’s hand, or fuck himself back on those fingers.

“So what’s stopping you?”

“Nothing,” Danny growled, as glance down at Steve’s hole, assessing.

“It’s enough, Danny.”

“You want me to bareback?”

“Nah, not up to dealing with an assload of spunk tonight.”

“You say the most romantic things.” Danny grinned, slipping a condom over his thick cock, obviously a little over-sensitized himself. He patted Steve’s hip, and Steve flipped over, elbows on the mattress and ass in the air, groaning through his teeth when Danny planted a wet kiss on his ass.

“C’mon, Danny,” Steve growled, pretty sure Danny was taking his time just to torture him.

But Danny’s patience had never been much better than Steve’s, and soon Steve was letting out a gasp as the tip of Danny’s cock passed his rim, the mild burning sensation as he was stretched winder. Fuck, it felt good, too good, even if Danny was pushing into him much too slowly.

“Tight,” Danny said, sounding breathless already.

“Just how you like me. C’mon, Danny.”

Danny bottomed out, and stopped, just rocking for a few moments, letting Steve adjust, and testing the limits of his patience. And then he started to move, his hand splayed over Steve’s lower back, his gun-calloused fingers scratching just slightly, and Steve reached for the bedhead, bracing himself.

“Shuffle forward, babe.”

Steve did as he was told — he loved doing what he was told, when Danny was the one doing the telling, so even with his head swimming he shuffled forward until he was gripping the bed head with both hands, and Danny was holding tight across his chest. His knees were spread just wide enough to accommodate the height difference, but if he’d said he minded that little bit of discomfort, he’d have been lying. Which reminded him, it was really time they played with the rope again. It had been too long.

It wasn’t a surprise when Danny’s other hand came up to cover Steve’s mouth — hadn’t he practically asked for it? Steve tipped his head back, noticing again that he was dribbling pre-come all over the pillow — whoops, better remember to flip it over before they went to sleep. He let Danny’s powerful arms control his upper body while he focussed on the sensation of Danny thrusting hard into him, the angle perfect, hitting his prostate on every pass until Steve groaned hard against Danny’s palm and came untouched.

“Oh, babe, I love this position but I wish I could see your face right now. Don’t worry, I’ll be alright, in the morning I’ll fuck you on your back. Forgot how much I love keeping you quiet.” His rhythm didn’t change, and Steve could have sworn his own dick was trying to get back into the action. But Danny didn’t last much longer, his thrusts suddenly becoming staccato, and he bit into the meat of Steve’s shoulder as he finished.

“You did not just lick my palm,” he snarled suddenly, pulling his hand away while Steve laughed. “What’s the matter with you, you’re an animal.”

He dealt with the condom, tying it off and flicking it in the general direction of the bathroom door and rolled onto his back.

“You had your fingers in my ass not so long ago and you’re worried about me licking your palm?” But Danny was grinning, as Steve pushed himself up onto his elbows and draped across his chest. “I love you, Danny.”

“I love you too babe. I’m glad you’re home. Let’s get some sleep so we can do it all again in the morning. Do me a favor, will you please, don’t leave at five am for a run, not tomorrow. Let’s just sleep in and then eat pancakes.”

“Only ’cause you fucked me so good,” Steve said, reaching for the switch on the bedside light before tucking himself around Danny’s body, to spoon him through the night.

 

 

It was only two days later that it happened.

Steve heard a knock on the door. His mind was on an article he’d been reading about passive surveillance, and he was so distracted he didn’t bother checking the peep hole. He opened it, and then stepped back in shock.

His father looked… well, he looked old. But reasonably healthy, Steve thought, in the ten seconds he stared at the man.

“May I come in, son?” John asked, and Steve stood back, as John loped inside, his old Navy duffel slung over one shoulder. He had to have gotten the address from Deb or Mary. Somehow the idea of him calling to ask them for it was more painful than it should have been. Steve watched as his father looked around the house — they owned it, or the bank did, anyway, and Danny did most of the cooking and Steve did most of the cleaning and it was always neat enough for a surprise guest.

“What are you doing here, Dad?”

John’s fingers twitched. “I could use a coffee,” he said, and Steve headed into the kitchen.

They sat at the dining table, too formal, too awkward, and couldn’t make eye contact. Steve wished that he’d never answered the door. They sipped their coffee, and stared at nothing, and Steve thanked the heavens when the door opened and Danny entered, blissfully loud and already halfway through a rant Steve hadn’t yet caught the gist of.

When he saw Steve’s dad, he froze for a moment, but only a moment.

“John McGarrett,” Danny said, reaching out his hand. “I’m Danny Williams, Steve’s partner. Boyfriend, I should say. I’m with the Bureau too, but we’re not partnered there.”

John stood up, and shook Danny’s hand, looking helpless.

“Happy to meet you, Danny. I hope it’s alright, but I want to talk to my son alone.”

“Well, that’s a pointless exercise,” Steve said, kissing Danny chastely on the lips before pulling out a chair for him. Maybe at one time he would have been cautious and reticent but not anymore. “Anything you say to me, I’ll repeat back to him, so… let’s do this,” he finished, sitting down again.

John shifted in his chair, but nodded, giving Danny one last look, before staring into his coffee cup. Danny reached out and put a hand on Steve’s thigh in solidarity.

“Your mother wasn’t killed by a drunk driver,” John said. “It was a car bomb. I was investigating the Yakuza, and that was… their message to me.”

Steve felt himself flinch, and grip Danny’s hand hard.

“Or else I was supposed to be in that car. Supposed to die. Either way. Message, accident — it wasn’t a drunk driver.”

Steve felt the blood drain from his face. The entire universe shifted sideways. “A car bomb.”

He was barely aware of Danny’s warm, watery eyes on him, boring into his skull, ready for the fallout. But if there was going to be fallout, it wouldn’t be right then. Steve was numb. Horrified.

“And that’s why you…”

“Yes. I made the very reasonable assumption that you and Mary could be targets. I would have left myself, resettled us on the mainland, but I couldn’t let it go. I had to investigate. And over the years, I learned a lot, not that any of it fits together well.”

Steve lowered his face into his hands, barely noticing the way Danny tightened his grip on his thigh.

“You should have told me,” Steve said.

“I told you what you needed to know. That you weren’t safe on the island.”

“You should have told me you were investigating.”

“And what would that have accomplished, Steve?”

“When I was there for Christmas, back in ’99 — you threw me off the island, Dad, you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. You know, there was a part of me that assumed it was because of Mom that it was so easy for you to let us leave. Like if you couldn’t have her, it was easier not to have a family at all. And that day, I realized how right I was.”

“Son —”

Steve’s blood turned to concrete, his limbs heavy, his head barely sitting upright on his neck. “Don’t ‘son’ me. You told me you didn’t want me there. What’s changed?”

“Didn’t want you there?”

John leapt to his feet, the chair almost toppling as he started to pace, standing by the window as if he needed the space, and then returned to the table, hands gripping the edge so fiercely that it might have turned to splinters under his hand.

“Sending you and Mary away was the hardest thing I’ve done in my entire life. Harder than burying your mother. Knowing I couldn’t be a part of your lives — it has chewed me up and spit me out every goddamn day of the last seventeen years, and that’s before the guilt.”

“You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing that.”

“If I’d… tell me the truth, Steve, that Christmas — by the way, you were still in a _wheelchair_ , in case you’ve forgotten — if I’d told you then that I missed you, that I wanted you around… you tell me, what would you have done? If I’d put my arms around you the way I’ve wanted to do every single day since I sent you to Joe — the way I did when you were a little boy — if I’d told you how much I missed you, how much I wish I could have been a part of your life… what would you have done? If I’d told you how bad I _wanted_ you to stay?”

“I would have stayed!”

“And probably gotten yourself killed. To send me a message. You think I could have lived with that?”

John sat down again, and Steve stared at him, trying to make sense of what he’d just heard. And of the tears in his father’s eyes, the exhaustion and disappointment of a man who’d had everything he wanted, and then lost it all. Danny put a hand on Steve’s shoulder and offered up a squeeze of reassurance, but didn’t speak.

For the first time in his life, Steve thought maybe he had begun to understand his father.

“I’ve had too many near misses. I don’t trust the Department. _Anyone_ in the Department. Some days I think it’s a god damn miracle I’m not dead already.”

“Chin Ho —”

“Accused of being on the take. He’s a rubber gun these days.” Chin Ho Kelly. There was no way. “I don’t know for sure but I think he might have been set up to get him away from me.”

John sounded so paranoid it was hard to believe everything he said, but he also looked like a man who’d been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for much too long, all alone, and Steve — despite himself — believed him. He stood up, and crossed the room to open the sliding back door, standing outside on the grass in the cooling breeze for a long moment. He closed his eyes, and only opened them when he felt Danny’s hand on his lower back, just brushing the top of his cargo pants.

“I have no idea what I should say, here, babe. I am speechless. Call Ma. She won’t believe you, but it’d be funny.”

Steve gave a weak snort of a laugh, and shook his head. “I don’t know what I want to hear, except that this has all been a bad dream. I wish he’d called instead of just showing up. I feel so blindsided here, Danny, I don’t even know how to react. I don’t know what he wants, I don’t know why he’s here, and I’ve gotten this far without him so I don’t know if _I_ even want this.”

Danny stood in front of him, looping his arms around Steve’s waist.

“You’re a family guy, Steve.”

“Yeah, but I’m more Moretti-Williams than McGarrett, these days. I don’t even know that man.”

“I hear you, and that’s very valid, and I know my entire family thinks of you as one of their own, albeit it a little taller and a lot more dangerous than most of us. But we’ve been sharing a bed for almost a decade here, babe, and I know you, and because I’m wired the way that I’m wired, I know what you’re thinking most of the time, even when you _don’t_. And _you’ve missed him_. He was your hero growing up, and then he sent you away, and you’ve had this little voice in your head ever since that wants to know why you’re so defective that your own father didn’t want you in his life.”

Steve closed his eyes, and rested his forehead against Danny’s. Yeah. It was true; Danny knew Steve better than he knew himself, and he was right about that voice. And the way it had become so much louder after his accident. The fear he felt when he knew he was never going to meet the impossible standards he’d held himself to before his bones had been cobbled back together with pins.

Steve flinched and looked away, but Danny held fast.

“And here he is, and he’s got some of those answers for you, but that voice is part of you now and you don’t want to let it go.”

“Remind me why I’ve never stitched your mouth closed.”

“You know why,” Danny said cheerfully, and lewdly, though his eyes still looked a little haunted. “Talk to him. Listen to him. I might make myself scarce for a while. No,” he said, grabbing Steve by the wrist when he moved to protest. “I know you want me here, and I know we don’t have secrets, but I’m making it harder for him to talk about whatever it is he needs to talk about. I’m gonna hit the gym and you can fill me in later. I’ll keep the phone on me. You need me home, I come home, alright?”

He tilted his head back, expecting a kiss, And Steve leaned to oblige. Another of those reassuring, domestic kisses he loved, with the added bonus of Danny’s hand still gripping his wrist.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

Steve and Danny turned to the doorway, to where John was leaning against the door frame, looking guilty and miserable.

“No, it’s good you came,” Danny said. “You two have a lot to talk about, though, so I’m going to head out for a while. I’d appreciate you both trying to keep it civil, if that’s alright. You are _family_. With a middling chance to get to know each other again. So _keep it civil_.”

Danny gave Steve’s wrist one last squeeze, and shook John’s hand as he headed back inside. Steve crossed his arms and watched him go.

“You wouldn’t guess it, but he’s a real hothead,” Steve told John. “Until I really need him to be my rock, and then, he’s my rock.”

“You two seem very happy together.”

“We are. He was there for me when no one else was. Helped me figure out who I am.”

John nodded, and fell silent for a minute.

“Maybe instead of coffee we could open a couple of beers,” he said, at last. “There are still things I need to talk to you about.”

 

 

Danny arrived home just as John was leaving; he’d booked a hotel room, and wouldn’t be swayed on it, and Steve was secretly relieved. The night had been tense and _in_ tense, and if there was a chance that one day they’d know how to talk to each other, it wasn’t going to be soon. Danny’s reappearance was a balm, and neither said very much until they were stretched out on the bed, Steve staring at the ceiling and Danny draped over his chest.

“Are you going to spill or am I going to have to tip you over?”

Steve grinned, and ran the fingertips of one hand over Danny’s back, the other tucked between his head and the pillow.

“It’s weird.”

“It’s _weird_? What are you talking about, it’s weird? Of course it’s weird, Steve, you’ve seen the man twice since you were fifteen years old. What I want to know is _why_. Why he came, what else he wanted to talk about, why you’re calmer than I was expecting you to be. Things like that. More than that, I want to know how you’re doing with the news about your mom. Because that, that is a total mindfuck, and you don’t have to be okay about it.”

Steve was quiet; truth was, he was barely done processing this stuff. Especially his mom. That was going to take some work.

But the basics? Sure.

“He offered me a job,” Steve said. “Offered _us_ a job, really. Organized crime on Oahu is getting out of control. It’s become a major port for human trafficking, drug trafficking, arms… a stopover between Asia and the mainland. Yakuza, Triads, Samoan gangs, the mob; gang violence is getting worse, and it must be starting to affect tourism or something, because the Governor wants to get proactive.”

“Alright. I’m not sure I’m following. She wants the FBI involved?”

“She wants a task force, Danny. With immunity and means —”

“That sounds like a very very toxic combination.”

“Yeah, it does. Still. I’d be allowed to run it how I wanted. Pick the team myself.”

They were quiet for a while.

“If I don’t do it, she’ll pull the team from HPD, probably. Which wouldn’t bother me if dad wasn’t so convinced that most of them are crooked.”

Danny nodded, and shifted his body until he could pull Steve toward him, until they were face to face. “No more traveling. No more three-day trips that turn into two weeks. And that means maybe we could…”

“Yeah. That’s what I keep coming back to.” If he closed his eyes, Steve could picture it. Danny with a little girl in his arms, with the same bright hair that he had. “But Danny, this is _your_ home, and you are _my_ home. Your family — you couldn’t be that far from them, it’d kill you.”

“But we could start our own family, Steve. And it’s 2010, not 1910. We have the internet. Skype chatting. And budget airlines that make you really appreciate why full price is actually better.”

Steve took Danny’s hand in his own. A few hours ago it had sounded like a remote possibility, and now here they were.

“Are you seriously considering this?”

Danny nodded. “Yeah, babe. And so are you.”

 

 

John called the house in the morning, and they arranged to meet for lunch, the three of them, ahead of John’s flight home late that afternoon. They tried to keep things light, but it wasn’t easy, and Steve was sure his father was relieved when it was time to leave.

Steve paid for lunch, and the three of them drove to the airport, Danny making a very memorable face when he realized he was being steered toward the back seat.

“This is a nice car, Steve,” John said.

“Thank you.”

Danny spluttered. “Hey, _hey_. Don’t say thank you, Steven, you’re accepting a compliment about my car. This is _my_ car, remember, I bought it. And I only get to drive it when you’re out of town. Thank you, John, yes, my car is very nice.”

Steve grinned, and then settled his face into a scowl.

“I get carsick when I don’t drive, _Daniel_. You know that.”

“I know you get grumpy when you don’t drive. Grumpy is not the same as carsick. They mean two very different things. Although they do share a few characteristics, because both are relatively common in toddlers, so. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Even John laughed at that. Steve wasn’t sure if his father was entirely comfortable with the idea of Steve and Danny — not that it would have changed a thing either way — but at least he seemed to like him. And he was enjoying the banter. Steve met Danny’s eyes in the rear view mirror and gave him a wink.

“Will you think about it, son?”

Steve didn’t respond, except to glance at Danny in the mirror again.

“I’m not getting any younger, Steve. I know this…” he gestured between them. “… _this_ is all my fault, but I’d like us to have some time to get to know each other better before…”

“You’re not even sixty, dad. And you’re healthy. There’s plenty of time.”

“Well, maybe. But tell me you’ll think about it.”

“We’ll think about it,” Danny said, from the back seat. “We will think about it very carefully. I don’t like the beach very much, but I could adjust, I’m sure. I’m close to my family, so there’s a lot to consider. I think I’d miss winters.”

“You’d get used to wearing slippers all year round,” John said. “Without getting frostbite.”

“Slippers?”

“Flip-flops, Danny. The island has its own culture,” Steve chided.

“Art galleries and theaters have culture. _Yoghurt_ has culture. Pineapple pizza isn’t culture, it’s a travesty.” Danny climbed out of the back seat to rescue John’s duffel from the trunk. Steve stood with his hands in his pockets, unsure how to say goodbye again.

“I’ll call,” he said. And actually meant it.

“The Governor said she’ll fly you over to talk about it. If you’re interested in learning more. And I can show you the evidence I’ve found so far.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’m sure we can manage that, at least.”

John held out his hand to shake, and Steve stared at it for a moment. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his father, trying not to notice that he did seem more frail than Steve remembered; maybe loneliness had seeped the vitality from him. He didn’t seem to know quite how to react, and then he did, embracing Steve awkwardly, and then tighter, until it wasn’t awkward anymore, just father and son saying goodbye.

Steve had missed out on so much. Too fucking much. Too many years. He didn’t let go for a whole minute, maybe even two, and when they finally parted, both Steve and his father had red eyes.

John smiled tightly, and gave Steve and Danny each a nod, before hoisting his duffel over his shoulder and walking away.

Danny curled his hand around Steve’s elbow.

“How long is it since we had a holiday?”

Steve nodded. “Unless you count the weekend we stayed with Mare in Brooklyn last year, or your cousin’s wedding in Boston — I’m pretty sure it’s been about five years.”

“Honolulu is probably very nice this time of year.”

“Honolulu is always nice,” Steve replied, watching as his father disappeared into the domestic terminal, and then turning back to the car.

“Yeah, I’m gonna hate it,” Danny said, as they climbed into the car. He didn’t bother trying to snatch his keys back from Steve, and Steve smiled smugly.

“But you’re gonna _enjoy_ hating it, Danny. You’ll love it. You can kvetch from the moment you wake up until the moment you go back to sleep about how hideous it is for your Jersey-loving ass to have to tolerate the warm sunshine every minute of every day.”

“I told you, Steven, you can’t say kvetch!”

 


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _... all roads lead to canon_

_“I love you, champ.”_ And then the bullet.

 

 

When Steve woke, his heart was pounding, he was completely disoriented, and it took a good few more moments to realize that the hands on him were Danny’s; on his face, on his arms, soothing him while Danny spoke quietly.

“Babe, you need to breathe. It was just a nightmare. We’re in the plane, we’re on our way to Hawaii, okay, Steve, you’re alright, you’re safe.”

“Danny?”

“Yeah babe. I’m right here.”

Steve relaxed back against his seat, feeling the prickle in his eyes that he so loathed.

“Except it wasn’t a nightmare, was it,” Steve said, adjusting the seat so he could sit up straight. He was done sleeping. “It was a memory.” He reached for Danny’s hand, and gripped it tight. This wasn’t the way his return to Hawaii was supposed to go.

 

 

They were met at the airport by the Governor, and Sergeant Duke Lukela from HPD, both of whom were solemn as they shook Steve and Danny’s hands.

“I’m sorry we had to meet this way,” Governor Jameson said. “I’d been anticipating a much happier first meeting.”

Steve nodded dully, and Danny squeezed his shoulder in support, and cleverly glared at a greeter carrying a lei until she abruptly changed course and found herself some tourists to bother. Steve was not in the mood for a lei. Jameson turned towards the door, and Steve noticed they had a protection detail. Pity, really, because in the mood he was in just then, if anyone came for him, they’d be dead before they hit the ground, and it would be therapeutic for him.

“We’re taking you to HPD to get a statement, and then —”

“With all due respect, Governor, after that I’ll be going home.”

“It’s an active crime scene,” Duke said.

“You think I don’t know that? My father was just murdered, _while on the phone to me_. I know it’s an active crime scene. And I know me and Danny are gonna find things that your guys missed. Right, Danny?”

“That’s right, babe. You might as well deputize us or whatever.”

Outside, Steve stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes drifting closed. He could smell the salt of the ocean, the sweet plumeria. It might have been fanciful, but he thought he could even smell the forest. He was too far away. It wasn’t possible. But there it was, anyway; the damp soil, the warm lichen. And maybe his last trip hadn’t been so great, but the island called to him again. He imagined getting back on his board, showing Danny the petroglyphs, deep sea fishing in the places John had taken Steve as a kid. Fresh ahi and lunch plates. Malasadas and coco puffs from Liliha. For a moment, Steve’s father wasn’t dead; Steve was just visiting, and absorbing the island back into his bones.

“Can you give please us a moment? Thank you very much,” Danny said, to the Governor and Sergeant Lukela. Duke took their suitcases to the car, and Governor Jameson stood by the open door, waiting. Far enough away so she couldn’t hear.

“Are you doing alright? Because you don’t look like you’re doing so good, there. Got the thousand-yard stare. I’ve seen it before, okay, that cult case we were both working in ’08 —”

“Danny.”

“And I have to tell you the truth, babe, I don’t think it’s a good idea to make huge, life-altering decisions on the heel of a disaster. You’re traumatized, you’ve barely slept. This is not a good time to be making decisions.”

“ _Danny_.”

“No, listen to me. Almost ten years ago, we fell in love, and you changed your world for me. And I know that wasn’t _all_ for me, but I also know you wouldn’t have decided to stay in Jersey if it _wasn’t_ for me, for my family —”

“ _Our_ family.”

“But I gotta tell you, babe —”

“I want to take the job. I want _us_ to take the job.”

“I think we should take the job.”

They had spoken almost at the same moment, and Steve was so grateful to have Danny in his life and by his side at that moment that it conjured the memory of being knocked off his board by an underestimated wave.

They held eyes for a moment, and for that moment, everything was fine. Steve looked at Danny’s face, the lines that had begun to form around his eyes over the last few years, the warm blue of his irises, the golden stubble over his chin. Danny smiled.

“I hate it here, just so you know.”

“It’ll grow on you.”

“You okay? We gonna do this, go solve your dad’s murder, clean up the state?”

Steve nodded. “You gonna be my partner?”

“Oh, shit, I didn’t think this through.”

Steve patted him on the shoulder. “We’re gonna get along great,” he said, as they headed for the car. “Governor. That active crime scene?”

She nodded.

“Now it’s ours. We’re taking the job.”

 

_~fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end! 
> 
> I'd like to thank JWAB once again for all her amazing input. I'd also like to thank all of you who read this and commented along the way – your encouragement meant the world, really and truly. This has been a lovely warm community to come into and I appreciate it so much. It's pretty intimidating to dip your toes into such an established fandom full of incredible writers.
> 
> I know a lot of you expressed interest/concern about Grace and Charlie! Please rest assured that if this story continued they would both become a part of it. I may add a sequel sometime or add some one-shots in the same verse, but their thus-far imaginary family is a great driving force for switching out of the FBI and moving to Hawaii.
> 
> Thank you once again for reading and for commenting -- cannot tell you enough how much it means to me. You're all delightful!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [fuckyoupbk](http://fuckyoupbk.tumblr.com). Come say hello, if you like!


End file.
